Elegies Under the Moon
by AnaWolf
Summary: Phobos had won. He had the crown, Meridian, powers... And her. Cornelia resisted. But even angels could fall... And he would be there to catch her.
1. Chapter 1

**This is dedicated to Yara, a good friend of mine and who reanimated my love for _W.I.T.C.H_. Check her deviantart page (YarArts2), she is an amazing artist and her W.I.T.C.H fan-comic, " _Hidden Truths_ " is fantastic! **

**This follows the _comic_ events (which differ from the cartoon in some details).**

* * *

 **Elegies Under the Moon**

Nights in Meridian tended to be quiet. Not out of peace and dreams, but of the exhaustion and resignation of those struggling to stay alive under a tyrant's reign.

They felt quite pleasing for Phobos.

Ever since he was a child, he had found the night to be a sanctuary, the time when few people were awake offering peace while soothing the mind of those who sought its embrace. It had remained as such through years and when that particular trait those late hours had been gifted with was felt, it brought forth a liveliness in his blood that his foes would describe as a "wicked joy". Not an unappropriated definition.

Looking out of one window, not towards the dark sky and its white and lilac stars, but at people's homes, he focused and _felt_ it, as if their emotions were strong enough to mate with the air, leaving it pregnant with crushed hopes and despair.

Such a rich _taste_.

Of course, there were still some who dared to whisper of resistance, of _revolution_ , but those were scattered sounds with no real substance as support. Fragments that still hold on to life when there was _no_ life left, only enhancing people's longing for days when fighting, with the belief (however feeble) of seeing a better sunrise, was still _possible_.

Those days were long gone.

A fitting punishment. Phobos was no stranger to bearing a dark scar inside that devoured every shred of hope, every small dream, as a creature of fables that fed from still-developing fetuses.

That they were to be tormented by it made him smile.

Poetic justice, one might call it. Few would care to remember ages past, let alone the young boy he had once been, but so it was. The scorned child had risen above them. The prince cast aside was now the one to rule the land. Those who had whispered about him, thinking him too naïve to understand or too caught up in their wishes that the Queen would give birth to a _right_ heir, now shivered under his command. Oh, the day they had needed to bow down to _him_ , realizing their lives were in _his_ hands… And later, when their efforts to take him down had _failed_ …

Yes, precious memories.

The second instance had one more _special_ quality, however. Not, as one would suspect, because he had disbanded those who opposed him and enforced his domination, which turned the hate that fueled so many into a state of brokenness that left no space for dreams… No. It had been a victory in more ways than power or political, and involving something more _personal_ …

Phobos kept walking down the hallway, towards a certain chamber.

 _Her_ chamber.

The (former) Guardian of Earth.

Cornelia.

People at times can look around themselves and wonder how a particular event happened, the nature of the path that took them to a certain circumstance. The tone may vary in the specter, from joy to curiosity to despair... Yet, more than often, the _starting_ point cannot be determined, lost in a blurred chain of sounds and images and thoughts that have lost most of their meaning or are not recognized. It's common in life and Phobos had learnt this at an early age, when he came to realize how people of Meridian _truly_ regarded him, what they saw him as.

It hadn't been so much in the beginning of his life, but as he grew and the Queen's body refused to bear another child, one acceptable for the crown, they began to fear that Phobos, like a curse or a bad omen, would turn out to be the only one the Queen would ever conceive… It was no different from a disease, hiding itself and only revealing itself through the damage, making itself known when the body is too broken.

In a similar way, he couldn't say precisely _when_ that girl had, unknowing and unwilling, found a space for herself inside Phobos' mind and heart.

He could _remember_ the first time he had seen her, _truly seen her_ , of course. That mere glimpse through his Whisperers back when they had allowed themselves to be captured in their rescue of the Fire Guardian could barely be counted… It had been nothing, done more out of a natural inquisitiveness of seeing the ones chosen as Kandrakar's Guardians, as well as passing a death sentence that they most likely hadn't understood in its fullest at the time.

In some cases, there was a sort of whim of knowing his enemies' faces, the features that accompanied their names. The rebel commoners could be left for his soldiers to crush, with he exception of a few that revealed themselves to be more skilled; and the Guardians were in a higher level still.

Phobos was no idiot. _Completely_ ignoring one's foes, no matter the despise felt or how pathetic they appear, is to set foot in the path of defeat and he was not without some understanding of Kandrakar's powers, either. So, he had observed the Guardians as soon as their identities were discovered, which had been approximately at the same time his sister was found.

Magic truly attracted more magic. That Elyon had been friends with three of them for years couldn't be mere coincidence…

True, Phobos hadn't known much more about them than Cedric did and it was better if his general sought information by himself. To bring those girls up in a conversation with his sister, recalling the time they had spent together, was too risky no matter how skilled in manipulation Cedric could be or how valuable the info Elyon could provide, even without realizing it, in her reminiscence.

The harm it could do outweighed the benefit.

The way the heart stops when one learns their lives were built on lies, that they aren't who they thought themselves to be and the reflection in the mirror is false, leaves the mind in a state propitious for molding for those of skilled tongues. And as such, Elyon was told a tragic tale of a baby stolen, of a brother left in despair without his only family, struggling to fit a role not meant for him while praying he might see his beloved little sister once more…

Thrown in a world she hadn't ever dreamt that could _really_ exist, learning her parents were not her parents and had stolen her "out of bitterness", that her "friends" were soldiers of "those who would seek destroying her people", Elyon's entire being had been left to chaos and pain. Her past was lie, her present uncertain and her future didn't exist… Anyone in this position needed someone to trust, someone who could say things would be alright.

Everything was more painful when you felt alone.

Elyon had wanted to talk to her "parents" first.

Cedric had faked sorrow. She wanted those who had _stolen_ her? Those whose words had been lies? People had suffered, her brother had spent years plagued by sleepless nights… Cedric had no idea Elyon could have such _cruelty_ in her heart.

It had silenced her plea time enough for him to turn her attention to other subjects.

In the night Cedric had first faced some of the Guardians, he had told Elyon he only meant to speak to them, explain the situation calmly in an attempt to make understand how there was no need to follow orders that would bring pain to their "dear friend". Elyon had actually placed all her faith in the Guardians of Air and Water and the Keeper of the Heart, even if she didn't know the latter that well.

That their powers had responded to danger so quickly had been unexpected and yet, had also worked in Phobos' favor when they accidentally set fire on the building, which could be twisted into evidence that supported Cedric's tale of rejection and an attempt on his life, guiding Elyon to the belief that her friends had turned their backs on her merely because she was not from Earth…

Elyon had been left with no one to trust.

With no place to go.

And when pain is too great, people can be driven to bitterness to cope. Such flame had been fed with care, as Phobos needed to keep it alive until it burned her mind as a _truth_.

Talking of days of innocence and happiness would only remind her of how close she had been with those girls and jeopardize everything in a way or another. Elyon was to be kept isolated, her focus on her older brother as a savior figure and Cedric as her only friend.

But Elyon was not quite as naïve as it seemed at first.

When the Guardian of Fire had been captured, Phobos had wanted to kill her at once. Elyon had opposed, speaking of how Taranee could be turned to their side… If Phobos was less perceptive, he might have believed this to be her only intention… Underneath her words, he knew, there were remains of _care_ , a refusal to _kill_ and a hold to _morals_. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether Elyon was aware of it herself or if it was hidden among the ball of barbed wire that her emotions had become.

Whichever was, in the end she was not quite as _compliant_ as he would have liked.

How bothersome.

As displeasing as it was, Phobos still needed to avoid conflicts with his sister to feed her image of him as a good man, so he _gracefully_ allowed the girl to live while warning Cedric to keep an eye on her and Elyon's interactions. It was his luck that the two hadn't been close enough for either to try actually _talking_ about all that had transpired... And apparently, the Guardian in question believed Elyon a traitor as much as Elyon believed her and the others to be. It was not sufficient, though, for him to dismiss Elyon's initiative.

And there had been another occasion, this time, stronger.

When the Keeper of the Heart had placed herself in front of Cedric, protecting his life and then speaking to the rebels, Elyon had not been blind or deaf. And though the rebellion had already been painted to her as treason (which was hardly a lie in Phobos' opinion), it pierced her sense of justice and later she actually called Cedric out for trying to take Will's life, being quite _indignant_ about it as well.

No matter how nourished her hatred had been, the pain underneath had survived as well as her previous demonstrated inclination for attempting to make things _right_ without unnecessary violence (a nonsense Phobos had snorted at). Cedric had seen her desire to go to Meridian by herself as a natural need to feel free in her new world, a teenager's whim. Phobos had seen it for what it was: The first action of someone waking up from a long-induced dream.

The timing couldn't have been _worse_ as the Guardian of the Earth had just come to Meridian with the intention of seeing his sister, an action he had not anticipated after everything Elyon had done against the Guardians…

Phobos had saw Cornelia Hale while she fought his guards along with the rebels.

And in that moment, Phobos knew two things about that girl…

One, her spirit was fierce. She had all the beauty of a rare songbird and the pride of a hawk that will claw out the eyes of those who dare to _try_ caging it. Oh, the others were fighters as well, he had to admit such, but perhaps out of them, the Guardian of Earth was among those who had it in their souls. Not by need, but by _nature_.

Second... She would face _Hell_ for Elyon's sake.

He _had_ been aware of their bond, of course. On the night Cedric had been bringing Elyon to Meridian, he had noticed a photo, displaying the two of them together, placed at the side of a family photo; this in the living room _and_ in Elyon's bedroom, which spoke of their closeness.

An irony not lost on Phobos, for when it came down to sibling bonds, the Guardian of Earth was everything he was not. In fact, for all the effects, she was Elyon's _sister_ in everything but blood. The fact she had been willing to come to the Metamoor by _herself_ just to see _Elyon_ could not be ignored and it was this determination regarding the princess what prompted Phobos to decide the blonde to be the most dangerous of the bunch, second only to the Guardian of the Heart… For if the girl insisted on it, she might break the chains he was making around his sister.

And that was also why he had started to spend more time with Elyon.

Due to living on another environment and lack of teaching, Elyon's powers had remained in a hidden state from herself, as to not cause harm, coming forth to her senses in response to the turmoil that followed the revelation of her inheritance, then free to grow into her body slowly, as a muscle never exercised before… The potential was naked to Phobos and he waited the precise moment for taking them as his own.

So, the original plan was kept: To work on his sister on a side while dealing with the rebels and the Guardians on the other…

Cedric couldn't enter those girls' homes, as easy as it would have been otherwise to do so and slit their throats in their sleep, leaving nothing behind as evidence of the act safe for the bodies, which would in turn give birth to stories whispered in the street corners, of five friends mysteriously killed in the same manner in a single night… Although he considered himself above cheap assassinations (in _most_ cases) and the Guardians _were_ deserving of more… _Fitting_ ends, there was something more: An ancient sort of magic was born _from_ them and inherently involved their homes as a holy sanctuary; it would act at once either by warning them of intrusion or wounding Cedric and there was no need to test which would it be when spying _from outside_ was not impossible.

With the moon and the sun carrying on their timeless dance, Phobos found himself growing more absorbed in reports about the Earth Guardian… Not so much of a surprise after his decision about her, only that it was not restricted to the measly info one would seek about a foe... And he had his sorcery at his disposition to help, though it couldn't be used with the frequency he would have liked due to the Wall… Cedric took notice of his Prince's behavior and just once dared to question why his attention was on _her_ and not on the _leader_ , promptly being shocked by the Whisperers. Phobos honestly thought that by now, the shapeshifter knew better than to speak out of turn… Even if the question was not without some merit.

But when he thought about the Guardians, somehow his mind ended up dedicating itself to her and the memories of how he had seen her were alive once more. The way the girl had fought, green energy of life around her… The cold blue flame of her eyes… Perhaps there was little wonder that her name could mean " _strong willed_ ". It was also, Phobos thought, appropriated in its refined sound. It suited her.

Once aroused, neither his curiosity nor his interest faded easily.

And so, the Prince learnt more about the girl of blue eyes. About her life. About her family. Pieces of her personality were denounced to him through her actions in the reports he heard and the moments his spells found passage in the Wall. Once, he had seen her with her friends, snow surrounding them in contrast to the grey of the buildings. The Earth Guardian spoke in favor of Elyon, pointing their meeting in Meridian and her belief in her friend, not budging even when the others walked away, not wanting to address the subject, leaving her alone with the Guardian of the Heart, who could only promise to think about what had been said.

At times, disguising his intentions as an attempt of comfort and a wish to help his sister to adapt, Phobos risked… _Allowing_ … His conversations with Elyon to turn towards her friend even if just for a short while and never saying much himself. After that damned encounter of the two, the chances that honey-wrapped lies would be as effective as before in turning her against the Guardians were low, so Phobos decided it was safer to let matter drop, going so far as agreeing to leave them be if such was his dear sister's wish.

It wasn't as if _her_ involvement in his plans to get rid of those pests was necessary, either way…

He considered the Earth Guardian an interesting creature... Thoughts about her came to mind even when not related to the subject of battles or schemes against her group… On one occasion, Phobos had been walking in his garden (on one of the few times when his plans or similar affairs retroceded to the back of his brain) and then, suddenly, he found himself musing about her… It had occurred to him, then, that the Blessing of Earth suited her as well as a second skin. He wondered what she would think of some of the flora of Meridian. It was a _natural_ train of thought, of course… And it appeared to be a shared appreciation between them… After all, the barrier of his castle was made of cursed black roses and the enchantment he had created (ones of the abilities Phobos was most proud of) to bring his Whisperers into existence involved the use of a special flower…

Phobos had always had an appreciation for beauty.

But _her_ … There was more to _her_ than mere pretty features…

Initially, it had been easy to regard his interest as caution with a foe. It was also the most logical reason, so there was no reason to dwell on the matter or to doubt the roots might be unrelated to hostility…

Until Cedric had told him of a flower he had seen in her room. The detail had called the snake's attention because of its aura; a translucid plant whose pale bluish hue moved slowly inside its form with a life of its own, soft crystal and liquid moonstone.

The Guardian… _Cornelia…_ Kept it hidden from her family, but often held it close when she was alone or in hours deep into the night when sleep refused its blessing, leaving the mind to be plagued by bad thoughts as it so often happens.

Phobos knew what that flower was, even if he hadn't seen it.

It had been born of a tear. Hers, most probably.

It was not a basic-knowledge feat.

He knew, therefore, _who_ must have _made_ it and _given_ it to her.

And what it _meant_.

The idea of _Cornelia_ in her room, wrapped in darkness and moonlight, holding a tear-made flower close to herself as if it was a hallowed secret, it's petals reflecting the light and caressing her face with it as she thought about the _rebel leader_ … And the promise resting inside that gift… Of reunion and a bond between them…

Phobos had longed to rip it to shreds, along with his _failed_ Whisperer.

Perhaps it had been _then_ when he understood himself, a moment of clarity among a sea of fury that had no reason to exist in the context of battles. It hadn't been any sentimental insight, no " _light shining in his darkness_ " nonsense as so many poets had a liking to describe it, it was more as a thought dedicated to something he _knew_ but had never spared conscious attention to. It had caused bitterness, for it was utterly ludicrous, _pathetic_ even, that _he_ would… And for _a Kandrakar's Guardian_ , of all people?! Well, it didn't matter, her fate would be no different than the rest of his enemies… She was just a lamb to slaughter, a foe to be killed, nothing _else_ mattered. The most he would do would be granting her a painless death. Nothing more.

Or so Phobos had believed at first.

It was no use. He had been haunted all this time by the ghost of someone still alive and as much as he held on to hatred, when it was Cornelia the thoughts that followed whether he wanted or not had nothing to do with her _death_ … And _damn_ , it would have been so _easier_ if this was simply lust, no different than a thirst for a particular drink, forgotten once sated…

Even so, Phobos was not one to deny himself.

No. He wanted many things in life, but from _Cornelia_ , he wanted something _else_ …

Phobos wanted _her_.

Not her powers or a pawn, but _her_.

It _sounded_ impossible, of course. Even more because he knew enough of her to be aware that, no matter what method of approaching he chose, it would turn out to be a hopeless endeavor… However, so had sounded becoming the active monarch of Meridian. The capacity to get drunk in hopeless reveries had been lost to Phobos when he was a child, but he had always believed in making paths to _achieve_ what he desired.

And Phobos had learned a long time ago that if he wanted something, he had to seize it himself.

And he had done exactly that.

A smile graced his features, one that tended to signify pain about to be delivered or being remembered, in this case, the day that had been meant to be Elyon's Coronation, a day all Meridian's people had considered the start of a new era. And so it had been, in a sense, just not as they had prayed for. The Guardians' initial plan of using a clone of his sister had worked, to his chagrin and the rebellion had broken out, as Phobos knew it would… You can only pull a thread so much until it snaps and he had been prepared with his new annihilators, having seen the day as an opportunity to get his sister's powers _and_ crush the rebels.

Their so called "leader" had been there... A thrill had rushed in Phobos' blood when the brat had sought him out, wishing to engage in a battle, creature versus creator. Maybe Caleb had somehow inherited some of Phobos' taste for dealing with things with a certain style or maybe he was just too eager to _play_ hero… Even fixated on not allowing Elyon to escape, from the coronation stand the prince had seen the brief moment when Caleb and Cornelia had greeted each other and the smiles exchanged, what was revealed in their eyes and it had been as if the softness in their voices rose above the chaos that was being born all around…

His whole being had burned then.

Arresting Caleb would have been most enjoyable, caging him in the darkness and leaving him there to nightmares and madness… However, alive he would still inspire others to stand in defiance and dead he would be a martyr, forever a symbol of hope…

Very well.

Alive Caleb would remain, but no longer able to _reach_ to anyone else and inspiring only _pity_.

While turning the Whisperer back to what he had once been, there was an extra care in making sure to keep his conscience alive, and along with the waves of power that twisted Caleb's body, Phobos had whispered a single sentence… One that only the other could hear and that would haunt him for eternity.

And eternity he would have.

Despite the pleasure that always followed those acts, it had been stained by Cornelia crying out _Caleb's_ name and rushing to where he now remained as a flower. His anger fueled and the idea of taking her along right then crossed his mind, but Phobos had to deal with the Crown of Light and plan his next step quickly, so such would be disadvantageous. Plus, in his mercy, he could spare her some final moments with the one she had so foolishly chosen to love.

" _Did you beg her to stay, Caleb? Aware as you had become in your last moments that she meant for me exactly what she meant for you and more, did you cry in silence for her to stay behind?"_ The thought made Phobos chuckle. Caleb hadn't understood until that point that creations could never stand taller than their creators.

As for what had followed… Well, there was more to winning wars than mere _killing_. So, he had sent the Guardians away to fight Cedric, having already warned him that if Cornelia suffered even one of his claws, he would regret it greatly… And proceeded to a one-on-one duel with Elyon. After all, wasn't it the most fitting for the situation?

" _And if I was to fall, it would be with my head held high"_ And as Phobos had told her, had he dealt with her right away, they wouldn't be in need of such _formalities_ now. " _But I confess, I was expecting more…"_

As powerful as Elyon was, she was untrained whereas he had more combat knowledge and no shame about using tricks. After all, what mattered in the end was not if you had won fairly or not, only that you had _won_ … And even then, during a _duel_ , his sister hadn't wanted to kill him despite what everything he had done, which Phobos considered pure naiveté of her part…

"Quite _annoying_ " The groan was to himself and no louder than a breeze. Whatever Elyon's intentions had been, whatever notion of tampering justice with mercy or sibling care had moved her, the action had _not_ endeared her in his eyes, quite the opposite and he had decided to cease the game by hitting her head with a rock. A most _boring_ and _undignified_ end, but if his sister was going to act the part…

And to think she would have won, had she just trained her powers when alone or, more likely, been more _ruthless_ …

Oh, well.

With her unconscious, it had been easy to force the Crown of Light on her. It had been their deal after all, and Phobos had never said she had to be _awaken_. And it was her luck, as well, for the pain otherwise would have been far too much.

The surge of power had been tremendous… And it belonged to _him and him alone._ Even now, Phobos felt it as if he had just received it: It lived inside his blood, bond to his body as his own natural magic, forever fresh, forever strong. How he had longed for that! How _whole_ he had felt! It went beyond his wildest dreams!

With _his_ new powers, he was a match to the Heart itself. Cedric had been unable to get rid of those girls, which should no longer surprise him, and within moments of battle, Phobos had them caged, deaf to their demands to know what he had done to Elyon as he debated with himself how to better deal with them…

It was a… _Complication_ , of course. For as much as he desired to spill Elyon's blood and take his time breaking the other Guardians in every possible sense, it would hinder his long-term plans regarding Cornelia. And there were enough thorns in his path as it was…

So, he solved it in his own way, deciding to send them back to Earth while divulgating nothing to the populace. Let them think whatever they wanted… Like Caleb, Elyon could become stronger with martyrdom and cries of revenge for the Queen would echo throughout the land, but with a disappearance, insecurity would find its birth among the people and slowly, Elyon would fade as a dream… Within years, she would be no more real than a myth.

He frowned slightly. Well… True, some time ago a couple of remaining rebels _had_ attempted to sneak into the castle, most likely moved by the belief that the Queen was still alive and in chains, but they hadn't been able to pass the Black Roses (no one ever was) and had lacked the organization once seen, demonstrating how the rebels were hardly a shadow of what they had been in the past. The weeks those two had lasted before succumbing to the torture had been enjoyable, though.

With his _dear_ sister and the other Guardians, Phobos had made himself clear: If they were to ever set foot in _his_ domain again, he would kill Cornelia. However, if they stayed away, she would remain alive and would be well treated as a… "Ward" of sorts. Just another pretty term for "hostage", they understood. Elyon had at once snarled in refusal to leave her friend at his mercy and the Water Guardian had been the first of the rest to break free from shock, screaming curses at him.

Couldn't they understand?

They had _lost._

Not that he had minded having an _excuse_ to make it clear to all of them how much their power levels differed now.

" _Oh, would you prefer risking her life? What marvelous friends you are!"_ In his smile, there had been the (fake) promise to send them Cornelia's _severed members_ should they ever entertain the idea of a "rescue". Not that any of them would ever be able of entering Meridian again, not after the _precautions_ Phobos had taken… But it was always good to leave a mental bridle, in case sentimentalism got in the way of rational thinking. This time, he was not the one caged, but was rather _caging the other world out_.

" _Yet, I allowed them to live, against what would be in my best interests. Only later you understood how it was a gift for you…"_

And in the end, not even the Oracle could do anything for Cornelia's sake.

Though Phobos doubted he would anyway.

" _You know you're easily replaceable, dear_." He had told her once, while she stared ice daggers at him. " _Why would Kandrakar bother? Have they_ ever _interfered to offer you help? Or to anyone else, for that matter_?" She had just ignored him, as if deeming his words unworthy of a reply.

It didn't change the fact that Phobos was right.

Knowing about the variety of power to be found, he also knew quite a bit about _Guardian's_ powers and was willing to bet the girl's childhood had been punctured by small events that denounced its presence. Perhaps a flower coming back to life on her desire, objects shivering due to a strong emotion or stranger events that had felt too natural, until the blindness of humans to magic had tainted her senses as she grew, and that power fell dormant, not entirely unlikely Elyon's. But it was still there. Magic was energy, manifesting itself under several shapes and the elements of nature could bond with humans from time to time, maybe blessing them with some particular talent or, in cases such as hers, _more_ than just that… Kandrakar merely opened the ways of the blood, allowing it to run free and their bodies to host all they were meant to.

The Congregation had some rituals of calling some of those powers back, a complicated process that usually demanded contact with said person and was not failsafe. All of this came down to just one thing: Even if the Oracle was to strip Cornelia of her position as a Guardian _now_ , that force would never leave. It was part of what made her as much as her heart or her mind.

Her friends, who could be trying to come up with an idea, any idea, that might help them to take Cornelia back, would doubtlessly be against it, but the time would come when the Oracle would have no choice but to replace her, as Phobos predicted.

 _Cornelia's_ agreement to stay (though the term was an exaggeration) had been made on the condition that Phobos _swore to leave all of her friends in peace_ … Still at first, she had clearly not trusted him to follow with it anyway, only later coming to understand that it hadn't been due to coincidence or her powers that he had _chosen_ her to be the one to stay.

How shocked the girl had been when, finally alone with her after the nasty business of the rebellion had also been dealt with, Phobos had revealed his actual intentions towards her and being responded with disbelief, as Cornelia openly stated that he made no sense and it could only be another one of his lies, a poor attempt at manipulation… A stubborn reaction, but no less comprehensible. Days had passed until she could no longer elude the understanding, and the acceptance that followed, that there was no deceit and though usually in charge of her emotions, her mask of despise had cracked enough for him to glimpse the fear underneath. It had bothered him, but he tried to brush it aside…

After all, as Phobos would _always_ tell his beloved, they had time. And time could change many things…

" _Only if by making me hate you more by the day"_ Was her usual reply when he said so, trying to ignore his snicker and his lips brushing against her face with a gentleness one wouldn't associate with him.

He could wait.

The doors to her room were snow-white, adorned with blue and silver veins, the latter repeated on the silver that encrusted their frames of marble. His knocking was more to warn her of his presence than anything else, though with little need as the girl was by now used to his visits at this hour, but Phobos was still a gentleman.

This was not the same room Elyon had used, of course, as Phobos was sure Cornelia would have known somehow and it would have displeased them both, though for different reasons. This one was across his own chambers, a place no one else got close to (not for Phobos fearing an assassination attempt, of the likes he knew had crossed Cornelia's mind, as the spell-wards and the sleepless Whisperers guarding the doors prevented such). He had overseen the preparations himself, keeping in mind what he knew she favored after learning of many of her hobbies and tastes.

Her accommodations were the epitome of elegance in a flawless combination of white and light blue and no one could take it for less than it was: A Queen's chambers.

Cornelia's reception was a cold stare from the couch chair she was sitting on, a book resting on her lap, the firelight in the nightstand at her side half-illuminating the room, playing with the shadows while not diminishing the effect of the moonlight that entered through the windows. Phobos was not a designer, but had done great with the room if he said so himself; it truly _belonged_ to her and some details resembled those of her Earthly one (to help her feel more at home).

"Good evening, my Queen" The same shiver of always ran her spine, out of hate at being called such by him.

"Do not call me that" She groaned holding a sigh. Phobos lifted an eyebrow in amusement at the reply she always gave, taking note of the undertones and how her back remained resting against the chair.

"My dear, I am the King. So, it follows that you're the Queen" He waited to see (and evaluate her disposition a little more through it) if this would be one of the times she would snap that _Elyon_ was and _always_ would be the Queen as she often did, or something along those lines in her usual display of undying loyalty. Not tonight. Cornelia sighed, rolling her eyes as if in annoyance, placing the book on the nightstand and turning the flame-like light out, though she was not about to go to bed yet. It made little difference, the moonlight was strong and its beams gave a pale quality to what they touched, not allowing the chamber to be in total darkness.

"You appear to be tired…" It was more a statement than a supposition, as he was educated in the subtlest signs of her mood as a husband who has been married for ages. And her weariness was not consequence of a long day or its activities. It was more of a soul-related feeling.

" _It does get strenuous, I know. Perhaps then we can make some progress tonight…"_

Cornelia stood up when he approached, walking to the balcony beyond the glass-doors to give her attention and mind to the night. Phobos took a moment to appreciate her figure kissed by the moonlight, not worried that she might throw herself off the balcony, for the hedge of small flowers that surrounded it would sense her desire and hold her back due to his spell.

Cornelia was aware of that as well.

She wouldn't ever escape him.

Before joining her, Phobos glanced at the book. She had started studying Meridian writing and the library also had some books that Cedric, by his orders, had brought from Earth when he still worked in a bookstore (after all, Phobos had chosen that place to be used for a reason more than just convenience). While many were mind-numbing, there had been some he had found pleasing.

"At which chapter you are?" He offered as a conversation-starter. Phobos was careful to give Cornelia time to herself, but along with their always-shared meals, he would spend hours with her every day and come by her room for a visit before retiring. With little to no choice in this matter and perhaps out of weariness or needing at least a moment of _normalcy_ , there were occasions when Cornelia would give in. They talked about many subjects, including their readings, no matter their nature.

" _And how we both enjoy it. You cannot deny it, no matter how much it bothers you…"_ It was in the shine he could tease out of her when telling of some play, which she might respond by telling one of her home. Afterwards, Cornelia tended to become cold as if in shame, but was unable to erase the moment or how she had appreciated it.

This, however, was not one of those occasions.

Cornelia said nothing.

"Isn't it a pity to waste such a beautiful night?" He asked at her side, carrying on unperturbed when she offered no reply. "I've always found it quite peaceful." She said nothing to it either, and except for a brief tension on her face, there was no reaction.

"Unless you spend it with thoughts of sorrow…" Cornelia looked at him for a second before turning her gaze away. That had touched her, whether she had been reminiscing the past or sending her thoughts to unknown faces. He leaned to her, just enough so his voice could brush against her hair. "Then it becomes too long, does it not?"

His words were from experience.

"Why you insist in drowning in unnecessary misery is beyond me. It doesn't have to be so…" It truly didn't and she was way past the point of misconceptions about his intentions. This truth was what made her face turn to him.

"And what? Close my eyes?" Disdain dripped from her hiss. "Will myself blind to reality?" And her gaze went back to the horizon, this time in a show of stubbornness. Although her view didn't face the city, it was as if she was seeing the houses right now.

" _Oh, yes,_ that _particular point... It is one of the most troublesome."_ Still, he merely cocked his head briefly, a gesture of dismissal not different from a shrug, with no regrets or apologies to offer for his actions.

"Many do so, right in your planet. And you know it" Not that either of them felt up for a _debate_ on the subject and he was merely teasing her out of a silent treatment before heading to the intended field. Cornelia nodded. She was not ignorant to nature… And people could be the same everywhere, even those who were not humans.

"Many, not all. Certainly not me. _And certainly not my friends_." The emphasis on the last phrase was meant as a blade and carried more than just one meaning. Even here, even after everything, she refused to think of herself as anything less than a Guardian and her values, like her faith in her friends, did never waver.

" _I could dissect your argument in this matter… But not today. It's not what this night is about and, as a conversation topic, your "friends" can be so_ dull _"_ Standing behind her, his hands caressed her bare shoulders before slithering down to rest on her stomach, his arms nestling her body against his as the white and teal sleeves of his robes fell in front of her. With the proximity, he felt her warmth as much as she felt his.

Her muscles hardened deliberately and she leaned her head and shoulders a little forward, but not enough to place much distance between them and no other movement was made, to which the man smiled to himself, enjoying being able to hold her like this with the girl not breaking away at once.

"But aren't you refusing part of reality as it is?"

"No, I'm perfectly aware of it." Her whisper could be taken as uncaring, but it held the meaning that she was refusing _him_. Phobos nuzzled the top of her head, which barely reached his neck, taking in her scent as he briefly pulled her closer, in the way one would do when trying to help a lover to relax after a tiring day.

Rare were the times Cornelia allowed physical contact to last for so long. Indeed, keeping her defenses up all the time, trying to fight when there was no way to fight, could get old on her system.

" _But it can make you more willing to listen,_ truly _listen"_

"I'm not so sure of it…" His low whisper played in her ear when he lowered his head, his tone as light as if they were discussing some banality of no real importance. "Is this out of some misguided idea of sharing the woes of others? Surely you don't believe this can make any difference?"

"It's more like a sense of right and wrong. Of _justice_." Some sarcasm came to her, as if she expected those to be foreign concepts for him. He chuckled, his chest trembling against her back and an almost imperceptible shiver ran over her skin… It could have been either out of discomfort or of a repressed wish to snuggle in his embrace.

" _Still, some other woman might have been stupid enough to try using your position, but not you"_ Indeed, it pleased him how Cornelia never tried to sway him or make use of seduction as a weapon, such being too much against her principles and too close of hypocrisy for her own taste. " _And you also know better than this. I wonder if you ever realize how much we know each other…"_

Not that Cornelia merely ignored how he ruled or was _ever_ shy in her opinions, confronting him frequently, especially when it came to her knowledge something he had decided or done to the people, be it recent or not. Whereas others had learnt to never question him (and those who had regretted it until today), she faced no consequences for her defiance… Not that Phobos changed his decisions, though. And his explanations (which were never given to anyone else) did not please her either.

" _Because you know they have base in truth. They are meant as small teachings. You're still too resistant to allow yourself to be taught in a more direct way… You have power, but little understanding of its other aspects."_

But oh, how he adored that fierceness of hers. He couldn't help but to imagine how it would be to _touch_ her, to take her to the peak of pleasure, her nightingale voice screaming his name over and over.

" _Soon, soon… You just need some time more, my love."_ And how rewarding it would be for both of them. " _You won't be able to reject me forever, as much as you want to…"_

"Those are relative, my dear and at the mercy of perspective"

He didn't need to look at her face to know she was rolling her eyes.

"I fail to see how it can be " _relative_ " what you did and what you do" No need to enlighten her in that matter, so Phobos let it slide. He would do so slowly and someday approach the subject in more directly, but not today… Justice, by itself, was like a tale and when brought to real life, it was cheap to buy and played with.

"One does what one must. It's the nature of the world. Most go on with pretty words, but no actual care… It's too much trouble." To this, Cornelia shrugged as to say it didn't influence her own views in the slightest, while unable of calling it a lie. "Would others do this for _you_ in return?" Those she defended might be as eager to weep for her behavior as they would be to sacrifice her to him if it meant a better chance at life. Had she stopped to think about it? He didn't allow her to voice how it didn't matter to her.

"If you wish to deny yourself happiness because others are suffering, then you would be just as miserable on Earth. This self-sacrifice of yours has no reason to exist. So why would you _choose_ to feel like this?" He understood well that this wasn't quite what motivated her mood, but it was not the point being truly addressed. Cornelia groaned and made an attempt to get free, but Phobos wouldn't allow it this time, his grip tightening without causing hurt.

"On contrary, I think I have a _plethora_ of reasons!" Her teeth were clenched. Very well, it was enough _pushing_ then. No need to provoke her into a confrontational state, so Phobos merely sighed.

"Don't we all?" They remained still, looking at each other until Phobos nuzzled her briefly, whispering. "All you're doing is cheapening yourself as a hawk who believes itself a canary" She could fly higher, and yet, preferred to _cage_ herself in blind limitations. In some aspects, she could be as innocent as Elyon had been. Cornelia stared at him and seemed about to answer something more… But decided to not extend the conversation.

"My choice, then." Was her only reply with a shrug, breaking the eye contact and holding a sigh. Phobos' hands caressed her arms in a way meant for comfort, trying to ease her once more. She was young, after all. He would have time to teach her and his words would remain inside her, keeping her company even when she was alone.

" _Yes. You're already marked. And you know it_ "

Cornelia's muscles remained still for a moment more and she offered no extra argument, as if by now hoping that Phobos would be satisfied with this visit and leave her be. However, Phobos took the chance of her considering the conversation over to kiss the spot where shoulder and neck united, seeing when she bit her lower lip instinctively.

He could give promises of pleasure with the most otherwise innocent of touches.

The promise of a _man's_ touch, not a simple boy who could give her nothing.

"And am I so terrible? Has my company never been pleasant?" The answer was in the moments when Cornelia had been too tired to keep the constant hold on despise and then, her heart had been touched against her will. There had been instances when Phobos had made her laugh, had captivated her attention during their conversations and once, Cornelia hadn't been able to push him away when Phobos, upon finding her weeping, had taken the girl in his arms and proceeded to soothe her.

He could make her feel loved. He could make her happy.

"This" Her voice sounded involved in ice. "Doesn't _matter_ "

" _Little liar."_ He smiled against her flesh _"It_ does _. And that's why it frightens you so"_

"Oh, _doesn't_ it?"

"No"

" _No need to push it"_ Phobos reminded himself. " _Not when we both know the truth"_

"What is truly your mind this night, my dear?" His whisper caressed her skin, touching her nerves and invoking a response she didn't wish to feel, be in her body or her heart.

Cornelia kept her head held high while turning her attention back to him, all of her stiffening up once more in rejection, the moonlight giving her blonde hair a silvery veil and complimenting the blue of her eyes.

"My _freedom_ "

He didn't even flinch.

"Your freedom lies with me. You know this" It would be an unpardonable presumption if taken literally and not as how he would be the one to teach her to fly, reaching further than what Kandrakar had determined for her. His lips moved against her ear before leaving a kiss on a particular spot of her neck, in a touch so light that it could have been of a feather, as his red goatee brushed against her skin and his hand lifted her chin as to get a better access. Phobos had to refrain his wish to leave a love bite, a mark.

He was a very possessive man, after all.

" _This is what you're denying yourself. You can use words as a shield, but they are useless against what you feel. What I_ make _you feel"_ And Phobos knew this wasn't just a body reaction, out of her control. He could see it her eyes. " _Yes. I've told you, love, time can change so many things… No matter how much we wish for otherwise"_

The kiss was one more burn under her skin; it would keep her company that night with the essence of what she was denying herself. The battles were over and he had won. Why care what others would think, when the chance to be happy was right there?

" _And you know I'll also give you whatever you may desire. And so much_ more _"_

" _Stop_ it" She growled, doing a good work at suppressing a moan. Phobos complied, as he always did. "And get the _hell_ away from me!"

Phobos didn't hide his displeasure when she rebelled against his hold, releasing her.

Moonlight pouring over them, wrapped by the darkness, they stared at each other.

Cornelia stood in defiance. Her pale skin accentuated by the pearly dark green of her gown, sleeveless and plain despite her wardrobe having the richest clothes, from fabrics that were like silk or velvet to others that could have been made of the essence of dew or morning mist and equally diverse in models and colors. Phobos didn't spare luxuries with her, but Cornelia would always show preference for the simplest dresses the seamstress made, which the prince knew to be a way to express refusal of his gifts.

Her jewels also remained in boxes, though Phobos knew she had been tempted to wear them and been unable to _not_ examine them. Perhaps Cornelia didn't know, but he was _very much_ aware that she had given some to the seamstress and to others who had access outside the castle, maybe wanting the jewels to go to those who could try using them to buy food. It was such a silly gesture that he had been exasperated (not to mention _insulted_ ), but in the end, had decided it harmless enough to be ignored.

Nevertheless, she had chosen to keep some of them, even if she didn't seem to recognize it as a choice.

In the end, even with the simplest dress she had, for all effects, Cornelia could easily pass by as a born-princess of Meridian, born to be his consort. Born to be his as he was hers, as unaware of it as she was (or maybe just rejecting the latter with all her might, for accepting it was the first step to accept the former).

The idea of the Guardian of Earth, the Daughter of Nature and Sister of Life being consort of the God of Fear, the Son of Darkness and Brother of Death was at the same time, entertaining and fitting.

Even if, for now, it was still an ongoing battle between the two of them.

All the better for him and all the worse for her, actually. Both knew that her resistance made the hunt all the more enjoyable and when she gave in, he would get what he wanted. There was no victory for her...

He had won.

"I'll never stop fighting you" Cornelia snarled between her teeth with the coldness of an unceasing blizzard: Constant and everlasting. Phobos couldn't help but to smile at her, with no mask to hide his emotions.

"And I'll never let you go" It was more than a reply, it was reality made into words.

He approached her, gently holding her face before the girl could make a move, his finger caressing her skin. Cornelia glared at him, both tired and angered as his eyes touched her facial lines, then her eyes.

"You would be a great model for an angel painting" He knew how some human painters tended to represent the heavenly beings with golden hair and blue eyes. Cornelia would definitely look the part.

He kissed her lips. A brief taste.

Leaning to her, Phobos whispered a single sentence.

"But even angels fall"

He released the girl, deciding to leave her with those thoughts and his touch still alive in her flesh.

Yes, Cornelia would eventually fall. And Phobos would be there to catch her.

And the Heavens would weep.

* * *

 **Second chapter will come soon and it will focus on Cornelia's side of the narrative.  
**

 **Thanks everyone for reading it! I hope you'll leave a review telling me what you thought of it.**

 **Don't forget to check my profile to other fics, other sites where you can find me and ways you can support me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Elegies Under the Moon  
Chapter Two**

Nights in Meridian tended to be calm, though never soothing. Pure as it was, the silence _could_ whisper of lullabies born from the moonlight and of peace… But all it whispered of was of exhaustion and shattered hopes.

At times, it seemed to Cornelia that she could _taste_ it in the air if she just focused enough and it weighted inside her body. Nights would have been a poet's dream, endless beauty that could only be dreamt about, the dark hue of the sky untainted by the pollution people grew up with on Earth, stars of white and lilac twinkling softly as a silvery moonlight caressed all it touched…

As it was, whatever peace the late hours seemed to offer was ripped apart and became a veil that was not sufficient to hide the despair of the city and, if anything, enhanced it.

Cornelia knew it would have been different should the land be under Elyon's care…

The book she had been trying to read was closed, left to rest in her lap and her fingers slid over the title's letters for a brief second, as if there was something from Earth, from _home,_ that could be recovered through the touch… A naïve image. It had been here for longer than she had, whatever reminiscence it could carry was long since gone.

With her mind unable to focus on the words, Cornelia sighed to herself giving up on reading tonight and briefly considered turning the light off. On the nightstand at her side, it resembled a pale fire interweaving in itself above an ornament of silver whose purpose one wouldn't have been able to guess right away until the little windup-like key was turned. She had wondered about its mechanisms, as there was no electricity in Meridian but then again, hadn't Mrs. Rudolph once mentioned how every being from this realm possessed magic, at least in some level? It wouldn't be surprising if the functioning of this light relied on a spell of sorts.

It reminded her of Taranee sometimes, and the small fires she would conjure, flames that caused no harm upon touch and gently glided in the air, as will-o'-the-wisps of some story… The first time Cornelia had seen those had been during a blackout at Will's home, when they were all still new to their roles as Guardians, confused and attempting to find sense in the force living inside their flesh and blood and of which they hadn't been aware until then.

Such seemed a lifetime ago…

Cornelia averted her eyes, glancing at the door only for a moment before resting her head against the chair, not bothering to look at the clock on the wall. It would have been a gesture more of habit and of no results. Time had lost its meaning despite her attempts to keep track of its passing in the first days and, while Cornelia was still learning the methods employed to measure it in Meridian, the clock remained as useless as when she had first laid eyes on it. All she had, for now, were the days following the nights in a cycle that would continue until the sun and moon ceased, leaving only darkness…

She could have been here for two weeks or two months…

Perhaps a _year_ …

She didn't know. And perhaps, had the chance been given, she would prefer to remain in ignorance rather than be stabbed with how many days of freedom had been lost forever when the knowledge wouldn't be of any sort of _help_.

Yet, there were things integrated to her daily life…

And as such, it was through her inner clock that she knew _he_ would be coming soon.

The one she and her friends had tried to fight against.

Elyon's brother.

Phobos.

Several times, Cornelia (as well as the others) had considered what would come to pass should they fall in their mission. Their imaginations were not impoverished and the taste of their enemies' hate stimulated nightmares that could scarcely be shaped into words. At such occasions, all they _could_ do was to offer whatever comfort was possible to each other, giving life back to hope when it seemed to be about to shatter…

They refused to bow down to fear.

And the understanding, in a nerve-level, came that should they fall then at least they would have fought with all they had and whatever would follow, they would face _together_. The notion had saved them many times from cruel thoughts, making a sanctuary inside their hearts. And yet, of all the possible scenarios, _this_ one had never crossed Cornelia's mind, no more than it had for any of the others. And how could it? In the circumstances of battles and of beings such as their enemies, chains and cells were what one expected upon defeat. Broken bones and ripped flesh, nerves burning and blood.

Even now, there were moments when Cornelia found herself preferring a cold cell, despite being aware that it was in human nature to imagine other circumstances that, while awful, still appear to be better than the one at hand, which only occurs because, in the end, they are not the ones being _lived_. Her surroundings spoke nothing of torture but there _was_ pain nevertheless, even if it was not Phobos' intention… At least regarding _her_. It was not so when concerning the people of the Metaworld, this had come to her understanding even before her current predicament.

It had been back when Cornelia and her friends had decided to take a more active part in the matters of Meridian.

The resolve had been made in the night of Karmilla's concert during last winter. They had listened in silence as Will told of fighting Cedric, of going to Meridian (quite by accident) and meeting Daltar, whose wife and child had been the first of the Black Roses… Despite everything witnessed and suffered until then, Cornelia regarded that night as the one when something had given in, when they had _truly_ reflected about their roles in a way not done before and seen beyond that which had been given: They were the Guardians of the Wall and their function, as far as they were aware, was to keep the barrier and their own realm safe.

Therefore, one might ask, shouldn't matters of Meridian be left to its people?

That, however, was a _selfish_ thought.

And one they refused.

Those people meant no harm and their intention was not invasion, but an _exodus_ as they tried to escape pain and misery. Were they any different from humans who fled their countries in hopes of a better life? Were they to be slandered as criminals when no crime had been committed? In that night, a stance had been taken. They would no longer just wait for plans of their enemies to thwart. If power had been granted to them, they would make use of it.

Such hadn't been an unsubstantial decision or words fed to the wind: Right in the next day, they had gone to Cedric's bookstore. Elyon's house might have been a favored option, however they feared being seen, considering the ongoing investigation of the family's disappearance. Lies of missing their friend or of wanting to have a reunion in her name would only take them so far… Despite its risks, the bookstore was still a better choice for continuous use and the portal in Elyon's house was set aside for emergencies only.

Crossing over to Meridian, trying to not be noticed and finding the rebels at the same time hadn't been an easy endeavor, yet their attempts had eventually been rewarded. Some had received the Guardians and their offering of services with undisguised suspicion, while others hesitated between opinions despite Caleb and Vathek's words in their favor. It was an understandable behavior and it had not weakened their resolve in the slightest. They had returned many times, bringing food, medical supplies or materials that could be used to make weapons, doing whatever magic that was necessary for the group at the time if it was within their abilities…

Over the days, they had found themselves becoming _part_ of the rebellion, coming to regard those people as friends and the comprehension of what life under Phobos' rule meant had slithered into their souls. They had seen children crying for parents arrested for no reason that could be understood, parents mourning sons and daughters who would have lived if not for lack of basic nutrition, families whose houses had been fed to flames… Life here was chains and ashes. And Cornelia and the others had met _who_ they were up against without ever crossing paths: They saw him in the starvation and fear, in the blood of a man recently tortured, in the eyes of a boy who had not known childhood…

Looking back, Cornelia now comprehended that something had been lost during those days from their part… A sharpness slowly came to their eyes, something that until then had made itself known only during battles… Small changes in demeanor that seemed to go unnoticed or perhaps labeled as mere "teenage whims" and "growing up" while having nothing to do with the influence of time on someone's life. Something fragile and precious couldn't be found anymore, lost like a toy, left to the corner of forgotten memories with spiderwebs for a shroud.

Yet, it hadn't been as bad as some would have believed… There was mourning, as there was for all lost things whose value is only then recognized, but she remembered Irma taking a crying child in her arms, creating animals of water that jumped around and making giggles be born in place of sobs… Will caring for an old man, her powers only able to do so much while she tried to bring his fever down with a cloth, whispering words of kindness… The fire dancing on Taranee's eyes and hands as she helped to forge weapons while Hay Lin discussed several types of tactics she had researched, applying her creativity to marry them to Meridian ones… And Cornelia also remembered something more: The feeling of a child's arms around her waist as he smiled for the first time in days and…

Oh, in the end all Cornelia needed to remember was the _looks_ exchanged among her and her friends to know that, even if they had been aware that this loss was the price for helping those people, it would still have been gladly paid.

And she couldn't, nor would, deny there had been another fondness for and in those memories besides being of help to others…

Caleb.

Due to his position as a leader of the rebellion, it wasn't always that they met during such "visits" (for lack of a better word), but the opportunities that came were enjoyed, often spent in long conversations while doing whatever task at hand, discussing the most varied subjects and she would tell him of her world and life, receiving tales of Meridian and of his own in exchange…

Cornelia had never been one to believe in "love at first sight", the concept appearing ridiculous even when she was a child watching movies of a girl marrying a prince whom she hadn't known for more than a _day_ … And yet, Caleb somehow already had a place in her heart upon their first meeting in flesh. Despite her rationality, Cornelia had never found explanations as to why he had been in her dreams for so long or for the pull in her soul, as if Caleb was a special friend from childhood whose face had been forgotten and whom she rejoiced seeing once again, her heart remembering that which the mind could not… And, surprising her, Caleb revealed he had had the very same dreams.

If there was a reason underneath it, they couldn't find it… And soon, they didn't care anymore.

One day Caleb had been strange… The others didn't seem to take notice, but his words were few and, despite him eschewing any exposure of emotions be through eyes or facial muscles, Cornelia had known him to be troubled and had inquired about it in private as they walked through one of the several tunnels of the rebel's hideout… For a moment, it had been as if she would receive no reply… Caleb had seemed unsure of himself for the first time, asking if she would care for him even if he was not as he appeared to be… The question was puzzling in itself, but what mattered to her was _who_ he was…

And then, came the confession of his true nature.

He was a Whisperer.

One of the beings made from Phobos' essence, fabricated existences that were mere extensions of his will, less than familiars. Their minds came from his, their bodies constructed through spells… Caleb avoided her eyes upon telling so, as if in fear that she would move away in disgust for what should be a crude travesty of _life_ and was unable to hide his surprise when Cornelia leaned _towards_ him, taking his hand in hers, holding it close to her heart. As brief as her meeting with such creatures had been, it had pierced her brain with a flaming iron…

But no.

Caleb might be of the same brood, yet he was _nothing_ like them.

A few days later, he had slowly told his story from the beginning, which was shrouded in mist as he couldn't fully determine why or _when_ his mind had started to form itself inside his false flesh, when the seed of dissatisfaction at what he witnessed had made itself know or if there _had_ been some cataclysm as incentive, thought it didn't feel like it... Individualization had come slowly as a dream interlaced with moments when he had no mind of his own… And despite him still keeping emotions to himself during the narrative, Cornelia could see it had been nothing but painful in a way she couldn't imagine... To be born when the body was already made, to develop a mind inside _another_ that was not your own… To have a conscience and yet, to not _exist_ and then to be _aware_ of it…

For how long he had kept a pretense of normalcy, he also couldn't say, only that it hadn't lasted much. It hadn't been just the presence of the other Whisperers which became sickening or how Phobos would eventually realize what had happened… More than anything, it was that he couldn't, nor wanted, to ignore the situation of Meridian and so, he had left the castle, changing his form and later adopting a name…

To rally others to form the rebellion hadn't been easy. Almost all of the people of Meridian could assume a human appearance, but differently from them or the specie of shapeshifters Cedric belonged to, Caleb couldn't do so completely… And the stripes that remained in his body denounced him as someone who was not completely from one side or the other. Was there any surprise then that his first attempts had been fruitless, as people didn't trust him? Even if he had not been a creature of Phobos, he remained only a _constructed_ creature, a false existence… If beings such as he were never born, how could they be truly alive?

 _He_ was, Cornelia had said, placing her hand upon his chest, wanting to disperse whatever doubt might have remained in him. There was no falsity in his existence, no matter if he had begun as such. There was life in his heart, in his mind and in his eyes… His name had been chosen based on sound alone, but Cornelia found it fitted him perfectly¹. In the end, the way _he_ had come to be did not change how _Caleb_ had chosen to rise above it.

He was who he was. And she loved him.

There was no more beyond that, no words that could be sewed into a fitting description of her emotions and the wholeness that followed. She _loved_ him…

They gave each other their hearts, which they held with most care.

Nothing else was needed between them.

Her skin still recalled his touches, his kisses and how her flesh had purred under his attentions while their souls seemed to dance with each other… In a way, they were more complete when together, stripped from limitations and doubts, alive in its most pure sense in their cores, that deep place where soul, mind and heart are one…

The flower Caleb had gifted her with on their first encounter was kept in her room, hidden during the day as there was no way her family would assume it for a normal plant or a sculpture should they ever see it. With no lies that would explain its appearance, only the truth would remain… Cornelia had worried that the flower would eventually wither, especially with this poor treatment, but as the days passed by it remained as fresh as when it had been shaped from her tear, to her relief and contentment.

Initially, her mind had been unable to fully process the meaning of the gesture in its entirety and the depths of what was _promised_ in it, untaught as she was in certain aspects of magic. However, such energy differed in nothing from her blood and there was instinctual knowledge to follow… And when it reached her conscience, she had only smiled.

In the nights when longing or fear were too strong stabbings that chased away sleep, Cornelia would hold the flower close to herself, feeling its smoothness and observing the pale liquid that seemed to flow inside it like blood, reacting to her touch as Cornelia sought the warmth in memories and in Caleb's promise… And hoping, _praying_ , for his safety.

Her throat closed at the remembrances that both soothed and pierced her, cold claws grasping her lungs from inside out as bittersweet consolation and sorrow mated in her…

When the day of Elyon's Coronation had arrived, they had been prepared, arriving on time to rush to the castle and managing to speak with her thanks to Daltar's assistance. Despite the natural desire to believe in her remaining family member, Elyon had not been deaf to what she had heard about him nor blind, even if Phobos had clearly made an effort to present himself as a good-hearted man… And it had hurt Cornelia to witness the hidden resignation in her eyes when Phobos' had attempted to steal her powers, unaware that it was but a clone at his side… Knowing the girl who was her sister in everything but blood, Cornelia knew her heart as well as her own. In some corner of her soul Elyon _had_ been alert to something of this nature… And yet, some part of her had also wanted… _Hoped_ to be surprised and that her brother could and had changed somehow…

Chaos had followed. To witness what Phobos had intended to do to the rightful Queen had mated with all the abuse endured throughout their lives, reaching the breaking point to the populace and their cries were not of fear, but rage. While Elyon was ushered to safety, many had joined the Guardians in their fight against the annihilators and soldiers. In the cacophony of cries of both pain and anger, people fell and it was hard to tell if they were dead or unconscious. Flesh was ripped and cut. Fire was born. Blood stained the grounds.

Amidst that hell, Will had shouted they couldn't allow Phobos to escape, but Caleb had already blocked the Prince's path, a sword in hand, moved by the same flames that burned in people's hearts.

But it hadn't been enough…

Cornelia had tried to reach him, but hadn't been fast enough… Hadn't been strong enough…

" _I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"_ Her heart bled a sorrow too great for tears. She was supposed to help him when it mattered, _was supposed to watch over him as he did for her_ … And she hadn't been able to get rid of the soldiers in her path in time even as she witnessed what happened…

A white storm had held Caleb down, piercing in and out of his body as a thousand of needles, reshaping his flesh and he couldn't stop himself from screaming… His hair grew longer, skin revealing a greenish hue as he was forced back into his true appearance… His form was twisted by unseen claws… It had been fast, yet each second had been an eternity…

And then… Among the fallen robes… Was a single, pale flower.

Time had stopped. Her mind had been frozen in the moment, closing in itself in defense as if by doing so there was a way to bend reality, to undo what had been done… But there was nothing. The city was facing destruction by Phobos' army. Flames hungered for lives.

The priority was to help people to get into safety. The underground had been the only option and Elyon had wept in guilt for those she felt she had failed with.

" _She asked me if I could_ forgive _her…"_ So she had, in a quiet voice of shame, crystal-like tears running down her face. It was not her fault and Cornelia had said so, unable to bear the idea that Elyon would blame herself for her brother's actions. Holding Caleb, for it _was_ him still, she had forced herself to focus on the moment and the following steps to be taken.

For the battle was far from over.

Upon reaching the castle, they had all been determined to deliver justice, Elyon willing to face her brother in a duel when her request, despite his actions, that he stepped down peacefully was refused. None of which surprised Cornelia as Elyon disliked unnecessary violence when there was another path to be taken, but since Phobos had made it clear that he would accept no other option…

" _She would have been a great queen…"_ Ignorant as she might still be in the matters of ruling, Cornelia knew her friend enough to afford the certainty. " _She would have known how to balance justice with mercy"_

What had happened then remained alive in her with the clarity of nightmares that have found a place in reality… She and the others had been forced away to fight Cedric, whose body had been distorted by Phobos into a creature that beggared reason, though the general had been proud of it as his strength had also been elevated. Cornelia and her friends had been able to stand their ground, settled in getting rid of him by any means and return to assist Elyon… Until, suddenly, Phobos had come down, a grin ripping his face apart, the Crown of Light, _Elyon's birthright_ upon his head a vision nothing short of obscene.

The fight that ensued hadn't lasted more than a few moments. The echo of Phobos' powers reverberating in their bodies, the sensation that of jaws and Cornelia's own nerves still recoiled, even if he hadn't been making use of all the power he had at his disposition. They had tried to resist, to find some solution.

There had been none.

They had failed. They had been defeated.

In his triumph, Phobos had caged in cells like those they had been in during their rescue of Taranee, uncaring for their words or attempts at freedom to resume the fight before they were back in the throne room where Elyon, regaining her conscience and seeming half-dead, was being kept in a cell as well. Phobos had observed the six of them as if drinking the sight of their fall, before affirming his decision in the ways of a sentence that was nothing like expected: Elyon and the others would be sent back to Earth, forbidden to ever return on the risk of Cornelia's life, who was to remain as a "ward" to ensure their "well behavior". The words were sophisticated in form and poisonous in sound, as Phobos teased them with was _actually_ being said, provoking Elyon and Irma to raise their voices in rejection, followed by the others, their protests soon silenced by the display of his strength as Phobos forced them to see it was not a request and they were no longer in position to be considered a threat of any sorts.

They had resisted, they had tried to do something…

It had been the last time Cornelia had ever seen them…

" _How many days since then?"_ Even so, no doubts ever came to her that her friends must be trying to find a way to help, though Cornelia herself was bereft of any idea of what could be done as it was no secret that Phobos had made the crossing between the two realms _impossible_ … Her lack of ideas however didn't mean her faith in her friends faltered.

She knew they wouldn't give up on her.

Cornelia _trusted_ them.

Not for the first time, she wondered how they might be doing now… And the thought followed its path towards her family. Maybe Will and the others had created an Astral Drop of hers… Well, of course they had, didn't this go without saying? And it was a comforting thought, right? At least… At least her family wouldn't suffer with her disappearance… And what about Elyon? The girls surely would help as much as possible, but in the end, there was no place for her to go back to on Earth and her reappearance would cause more problems than she had need of after everything she had gone through…

The idea that Kandrakar could have taken Elyon in had crossed Cornelia's mind, but it lacked substance to be considered a valid possibility. Of everything Phobos spoke of, Cornelia couldn't find in her many words of denial to the points he made when Kandrakar was the subject at hand. In the end, nor she or the others knew much about it safe for what had been told by Yan Lin, which hadn't been enough to formulate a firm understanding of it… Perhaps those of the Congregation were satisfied enough that Phobos had chosen to remain in the Metamoor?

She had no way of knowing, but…

" _You know you're easily replaceable, dear_." His words came back to her, carrying his smile. " _Why would Kandrakar bother? Have they_ ever _interfered to offer you help? Or to anyone else, for that matter_?" Cornelia had refused to give an answer due to her own pride as Guardian (and there was a great deal of it), but wasn't this a valid argument? Hadn't she and her friends been thrown in a chessboard without receiving a complete knowledge of the rules or more info about their enemies from the start? To follow such line of thought was to admit they had been more like pawns than players.

And pawns could be sacrificed.

Phobos _was_ right… She _was_ easily replaceable in their eyes, was she not?

It made her feel small. Insignificant…

 _Alone_.

But on the event that her life did not matter to Kandrakar, it _did_ to her friends, to her family. This was good enough and though Cornelia remained in silence, wanting to avoid this particular subject, the fact was that even if she ever felt the title of Guardian being stripped from her, she would uphold it in her heart.

It had been out of fear that her friends' insistence would result in something worse that Cornelia had, back then, forced herself into saying that if her life was an assurance against defiance, then it followed that Phobos had to swear to leave them be. Oh, she wasn't stupid enough to believe even for a moment that he would abide by his own words or any sense of honor… It was just that it felt better to treat this as a negotiation of sorts, even if it was far from it… For now.

The oddness of the situation had broken through fear soon, for logic demanded that they were to be all executed or, if kept alive, then only as toys to be broken in whatever way and for as long as it pleased Phobos. The desire to do so went undisguised in his eyes… But Cornelia had assumed this decision to be even more appealing to his sadism.

" _It was more than that…"_ She thought to herself, her eyes having closed at some point. Despite what Phobos had told her later on that same day, Cornelia had still wondered about his reasons for that particular action. No matter what, execution _would_ have been the most sensible path, even if preceded by torture. During a meal, she had finally voiced her question.

Phobos had looked at her for a moment before giving a simple reply.

" _For you"_ She hadn't believed him, at least not at first, no more than she had believed anything else then. Only later, with acceptance, came the understanding that this was meant more than literally. He hadn't just spared her friends _for_ her. It was also an offering of sorts: His first gift had been their lives.

The first of many.

After the Guardians and Elyon were gone, Phobos had had Cornelia to stay in the throne room under watch of some of his annihilators, in case she broke free of her cell, while he dealt with the would-be revolution in the city. To attack those creatures right away, although it was her desire, would have been foolish as she could feel their strength had increased in response to that of their Creator, so Cornelia had used her time in reflection and deliberation… She had believed she was to become a living trophy, a flesh-and-blood reminder of his victory. A toy to be played with according to his desires. A slave to be humiliated.

When Phobos returned, he found her with head held high, expecting mockery and wounds while refusing to allow him to see the cold bites in her nerves… But no. No mockery, no wounds. There _had_ been a hellish enjoyment in his expression due to his victory, but it had somehow softened when his attention was on her and, through his sorcery, he had actually tended to her injuries, though her own power increased the natural healing process of her body…

And then, left alone, Phobos had made the truth known.

Cornelia had been still, the cold increasing with each word in spite of her not believing any of it. It was ludicrous and she had told him so. For a manipulation attempt, this was far too weak for the likes of him. Did he consider her that much of a fool? Phobos had assured her the veracity of his words and taken her to what would be her chambers from now on… Her bones had shivered when she realized it was right across his own.

The place had clearly been _prepared_ for her, it was seen in the details that resembled her _actual_ room back home and it had made her entrails convulse with a desire to empty themselves. Cornelia hadn't been able to dwell on what it meant, not in conscious level on her first night, barely bringing herself to lie on the bed no matter how her body begged the oblivion of sleep…

During the following days her flesh was made stone, as if she was a prey waiting constantly to be ripped by the predator's claws… She didn't want to think, didn't want to accept Phobos' words, learning then how harder it could be to deny a truth rather than a lie. She had considered every possibility, her mind scratching as it tried to find deceit under a veneer of pretenses… And finding nothing.

The eyes of the people she had met, the destruction of the city, the Black Roses, Elyon, Caleb… They flashed in her mind in a spiral of images shaking her insides. No. Phobos' claim of having feelings for her had no place in reality. Oh, even then most terrible criminals could feel love, Cornelia knew it, but a man who committed atrocities of the kind he had? No, a being who could come up with and _act upon_ such acts had _no capacity for such feelings_.

The next options were considered. This was lust then, that reduced her to a thing to be owned. This fitted him more and went accordingly to his actions. Or then was that twisted fixation that made someone rape other while claiming, and perhaps even believing, to be in _love_ … There was a phrase her literature teacher had quoted once… " _If a person loves only one other person and is indifferent to all others, his love is not love but a symbiotic attachment or enlarged egotism._ "² Didn't this apply to what was happening?

The time had come, however, when she could no longer escape realization.

It was not a lie. It was not obsession. It was not lust.

For everything Phobos had done, his love for her was _genuine_.

And Cornelia had been frightened.

Having her room so close to his could be easily assumed as an opportunity and though Cornelia had never thought before whether or not she had it in her to take someone's life, not many hours of reflection had been needed… Certain situations _demanded_ the sacrifice of some principles, though the cliché sorts of assassination so abundant in history and tales had always felt like a vile act to her no matter the circumstances involved. Even if it was Phobos, the idea created a taste of bile in her mouth… And it made no difference in end. As aware as she had been that it wouldn't be possible anyway (or it would have been done already), in her need to _confirm_ it to herself and get a better sense of things, Cornelia had left her room once at night… And the Whisperers had been there standing like guards, sleepless creatures that they were, one inquiring what the _Queen_ desired with a voice that convulsed her flesh… She had made up a lie about a night snack, not caring if they believe her or not, her aura brushing against Phobos' doors… And recoiling at once when feeling wards around it.

She would _never_ be able to enter that place without his permission or with even a shred of murderous intentions in her heart. And in that brief touch, she had felt a trait of raw power, flowing like waves of eternity, indifferent to all other forces.

God, how to fight against someone like him?

That had also been one of the few times Cornelia had ever talked to the Whisperers, as she avoided them as much as she could. It hurt just to _see_ them and how different they were from Caleb… Even if her feelings were not so involved, their presence would still be repulsive to the nerves for they were, indeed, a mockery to life and an obscenity.

Not Caleb, though. He _had_ been different, he had fought for what was right…

It hurt… As if a part of her heart was rotting away without ever fading…

The Whisperers reacted in kind and didn't approach her unless it was absolutely necessary. Whether Phobos had ordered so out of not wanting her to suffer (an irony to be scorned at) or out of wanting her to overcome the loss of Caleb, she didn't care much as long as her contact to those creatures remained limited… In the occasions she had mentioned Caleb, a storm had been clear in Phobos' eyes and Cornelia couldn't fool herself by saying there was no jealousy there.

As for Cedric, she had no longer seen him since the day of the Coronation, for which she was most grateful. Whether he was somewhere in the castle, dead or living in another city, it was of no importance. When that last option came to her, it also had made her wonder what other cities and villages looked like in this world… Though they probably were as dreary as Meridian. Some books in the library, however, had painting-like images that gave her an idea of how things were _supposed_ to be and they taught her of how deep Phobos' desecration of that world was.

Seeing no reason to "mingle with the scum", as he put it, Phobos kept making decisions regarding the kingdom from inside the palace. In the same way, he knew Cornelia would find a way to escape should access outside be granted, so she had no means of leaving the castle grounds, which she had learnt by experience…

Not that she spent her days withering away in her room… The palace offered distractions enough to escape the gray sea that threatened to devour her at times. Cornelia had started to study Meridian's writing and her reading had been improving. The Royal Library was a sanctuary filled with books of the most different topics and she had been surprised to find that it also had several ones from Earth. There were also paintings, the music room (she had had the chance to see some of the instruments of the Metamoor. Some didn't offer the slightest clue of how they were meant to be used from looks alone, others resembled Earthly ones a little… And she had heard Phobos playing one, a somber melody that she would be lying if she said was not beautiful in its own way), the gardens and much more… And Cornelia knew that whatever she might desire would be hers if she just asked.

One didn't need to look further than her own room for evidence of such, of how Phobos had dedicated time to learn her interests, what made her happy and her preferences. Another of his gifts had been a lake eternally frozen, to serve her passion for ice skating… Yet, despite its perfection, the flowers that survived around its coldness, that which had been cause of so much joy before now gave birth to mixed emotions. Oh, that was still present, but accompanied by a bittersweet feeling for which there was no name in any language.

And every day, Cornelia would visit the Black Roses.

The first time, it had been with the idea of trying to move them away in order to create a passage as she had done back on the Coronation Day. It had been useless. Their spell had become stronger and it was beyond her to do anything. Cornelia had groaned in disappointment and then observed the roses, Will's words echoing in her… Tentatively as a child, she had tried to make a connection, sending her energy to the ground towards their roots and up to the roses…

And she had been pierced.

She had felt every soul whose body had been warped by poison into that of a rose, flesh under petals, as she was swallowed by the sea of their thoughts and feelings that echoed inside her, filling her body, her heart and her mind all at once. Images. Names. Voices. A thousand despairs became hers with no hope of distinguishing one from another as they went on and on and on…

" _I didn't even say goodbye…"_

" _My child! My child!"_

" _I'm sorry…"_

" _I'm scared, I'm scared"_

" _I'll never see him again…"_

" _Mommy… Mommy, where are you?"_

" _Kill me, please, kill me…"_

Cornelia had ripped the connection, those echoes still in her and barely had had time to run back to the castle and hurl until there was a taste of blood and bile in her mouth.

So many _years_ … So many _lives_ … So many people, trapped with nothing but their pleas and cries, tormented by the faces of loved ones and regrets, kept alive by no will of their own…

Such sorrow…

Such despair…

How _could_ Phobos have done that?

Even her, Guardian of Earth and bearer of its blessing, was unable to undo that curse… She had tried and failed, tried and failed, tried and failed _again_ until her knees gave in, bones stripped of strength even to support her body as tears of hate burned her eyes for her own uselessness.

What was within her ability wasn't much, but it was all she had to offer… So, each and every day day without ever failing, Cornelia would go to a different part of the barrier, repeating the connection with careful deliberation as to avoid going beyond her body's limit and losing consciousness. Then, concentrating all of her soul, she would send waves of care and love to each rose, each person touched, cradling them.

At least she could _try_ soothing their suffering a little…

Seeing that her idea had worked, Cornelia had sought Daltar then. It had taken a long time, her heart running through the veins created by her power, searching and searching among a thousand roses until she had finally found his wife and daughter. As it turned out, if Daltar held to her (her hand or shoulder sufficed), Cornelia could use herself as a conduit, sending them his love and thoughts while allowing him to feel theirs in return.

Daltar had turned to her, eyes glimmering with tears he tried to conceal, swearing himself forever in her debt. For the first time in years, he had felt as if he had held his wife's hand and hugged his daughter once more, actions he had thought he would never feel again even after his death…

Despite his own feelings, Cornelia always found him hesitant to repeat the process every day, concerned for how it could wear her down at times, especially since he knew she was also doing the same for other areas of the wall, only accepting at Cornelia's own insistence that she would be fine. Daltar had become a friend, but she was careful: The last she wanted was to accidentally arouse Phobos' jealousy…

At least there was some good she could still do…

Not that Cornelia had resigned herself to her situation.

Not that she would _ever_ stop fighting.

The tailor Phobos had called for her was the very same who had been in charge of Elyon's wardrobe, especially the gown for the coronation. Though his face had no signs of great old age, it was like a mask and the lack of light in his eyes spoke of too many tears for a single lifetime, even as he tried to pretend eagerness in attending her. Cornelia had waited and watched, as she couldn't afford to commit a mistake when there were some who, beyond her understanding, supported Phobos by their own volition rather than coercion.

Both had been careful of each other at first, politeness giving space to friendliness when they were sure that there was no loyalty towards Phobos from any part. Cornelia had made use of it later, using the pretext of thanking Master Jink for his hard work by embracing the small man… While sneaking a letter into his pocket.

" _Alborn. Miriadel. Or Vathek"_ She had whispered quickly, recalling the true names of Elyon's parents.

And she had been left to wait.

It was a fragile plan with several reasons to fail. In order to not arouse suspicion from the Whisperers that could be nearby with a wave of magic or any of the soldiers, Cornelia hadn't risked making use of such to pass the note, but what if they had noticed something nevertheless or if Master Jink was inspected on his way out? What if he couldn't find anyone who could read Earth writing?

Or…

Or what if those three were _dead_?

The next time Master Jink had visited, they had both behaved as usual, which hadn't demanded much effort despite their anxieties… There was a sort of acting that could only be learnt with life experiences. Only when he was checking details of her last gown before leaving, the tailor had come up with an excuse to have Cornelia sit down on her bed as he checked something on her hem… And Cornelia had felt paper brushing against her ankle on its way to underneath the bed.

She had thanked the man once again, looking straight in his eyes.

" _It's my pleasure, my Lady"_ He had said and for the first time, his face was no longer a mask and Cornelia had seen his true eyes, how gentle they were.

Master Jink had bowed to her on his way out.

On her first letter, Cornelia had written, as concisely as she could, what had transpired in the palace and the current circumstances.

And Alborn had replied.

Although she had no influence over water, Cornelia somehow knew he had wept upon writing, knowing now that his daughter was alive and that the other Guardians would be helping her. He informed Cornelia as much as possible about the situation of the city, which had deteriorated. Many had lost hope along with the Queen's disappearance, though Miridael, Vathek and him were still trying to keep the rebellion alive…

His next words had been a whisper of spring to her.

Before leaving with Elyon and the others to the castle back then, Cornelia had entrusted Caleb to Vathek, confident that he would protect his best friend as she had been unable to… And he had done so. According to Alborn, they spoke to Caleb every day in an attempt to prevent his complete regression, for if he had developed a conscience like no other Whisperer ever had, they wouldn't risk him being still alive even if reduced to that shape and had also read her letter out loud in his presence.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking from her part as well as theirs, but Cornelia wanted to hold on to the belief that there might be a way to save him someday, after all…

The letter-exchange couldn't be as frequent as any of the sides would have preferred… For Cornelia, that was her only contact to outside the palace's walls. Even so, the letters had fueled her determination nevertheless while learning the Queen was still alive had given hope back to the Rebellion and this was whispered among the people.

They were still fighting.

" _We'll make a new dawn. Hope only dies when we allow it to"_ Cornelia had written in her second letter and the intensity of the response had been almost palpable when had she read it. Alborn had sworn they would find a way to release her, asking her to not give in while praising her actions… It those last words, Cornelia had sensed the Commander of the Royal Guard he had once been rising again and found herself feeling honored.

She only hoped that no one would do anything rushed with the intention of freeing her…

Those words had been _needed_ in a way that brute strength and military strategy were not… Cornelia didn't think there was an accurate enough voice to be given to what had happened or if she would have it in her to verbalize her own dissection when it came down to the actual battle she was engaged in…

Phobos…

Coexistence had nurtured more understanding of him ( _of each other)_ than Cornelia would ever have yearned for, regardless if no harm would ever come to her from his part. If anything, Phobos was not a man to delude himself, nor was he a fool to believe affections could be forced.

He had no problems with waiting for her, taking enough satisfaction from her company alone.

Back when her defenses against the truth were starting to crumble, a part of her had sought some insane resistance in the idea that this was a passing interest, which would undo itself into nothing after he had taken her… Whatever had moved such line of thought, had been reduced to ruins as well.

Cornelia knewnow... He wasn't a man whose interests were easily destroyed and his feelings for her were not of a nature that would wane. If it was someone else, this would be flattering and even romantic...

To Cornelia, it was a curse.

Tiredness came to her often, for no person could keep the defenses up all the time, especially when the attacks didn't come in the traditional shape… There were ways to protect yourself from physical blows, even from psychological ones, as deep as those could reach… But how could you defend yourself from a love that was dedicated, even if unwanted?

Occasions had come when Cornelia had been unable to hold on.

One of them had occurred while she strolled around in the gardens, blind to the beauty offered, untouched by the sun and a bystander would take her for a lost soul in the Asphodel Fields, which wouldn't be an unfitting comparison as she had been trapped in her own mind, where the faces of her friends and family haunted her along with whispers of "should have" and "will never", unsaid words cutting her throat while deeds undone teased her…

And Cornelia had sat down, weeping, body shivering with a wound that could not be tended to as she felt herself becoming glass under the skin and shattering with no hope for release.

She wanted her friends… She wanted Hay Lin to be excited about a new science fiction movie, to study with Taranee as she explained topics with her soothing voice, to see Will smiling as she spoke about something Matt had said to her, and to be teased by Irma… She wanted to hug Elyon, to see her friend drawing and smiling again…

She wanted her family… She wanted to feel her mother's embrace and her scent, which had cradled her to sleep when she was small and had had a nightmare… Her father to caress her head as he laughed… She wanted Lilian to be up to her antics to call attention and to hug her again, regretting all the times they had fought and how she had not played with her lately as they used to…

The loneliness that had been her personal demon until meeting Elyon, Irma and Hay Lin, and later Will and Taranee, was back now strengthened by a blessed past that was out of reach.

She wanted her _life_ back!

In was in this state that Phobos had found her and, needing no words to understand her tears, had taken her in his arms, prompting Cornelia to snarl he had no right to offer comfort when _he_ was the one who had stolen her unlived days. He had just accepted her arguments while not breaking the contact and, in her despair, Cornelia had somehow been unable to push him away as much as her whole being wanted to…

Holding her as if she was indeed about to shatter in his hands, with injuries he didn't want to worsen, Phobos had kissed her tears away with a feather-like touch and in his arms, she had found warmth. With the care of a lover or a friend, he had soothed her and spent the rest of the day keeping her company, not attempting to forcefully lighten her mood but just _being there_ for her…

Even now Cornelia felt ashamed upon the remembrance, despite the effort dedicated during the following days into keeping (and increasing) distance, being nothing but cold towards Phobos as if by doing so she could erase a little the red quality that event seemed to have…

Nothing, however, could change the knowledge that Phobos' kindness then hadn't been fabricated or a moment-born acting… It didn't make things better either, for in instances like this, when his sincerity was a razor, there was no way to avoid seeing how he was a being who would bleed as much as her when cut.

In his mind and their conversations, she had found a meticulous understanding of the nature of suffering, to the point Cornelia had to wonder the paths he had treaded on in years past… There were no vestiges to be found in the castle that offered a clue as far as she knew (and if they did, Phobos no doubt kept them hidden).

In bits and pieces of what she had been able to read about the Metamoor's story and teachings she had asked Daltar for, Cornelia had learnt that the monarchy was essentially matriarchal, with the only sons being referred as "Prince Regent" while their wives were crowned "Princess", until they bore an heiress who would receive the title of "Queen" upon her coming of appropriated age…

Centuries past on Earth came to mind, times of patriarchal kingdoms that traded the lives of daughters as if dealing with breeding mares that were to be sold at a highest bidder, kings growling over their lack of a male, worthy heir while the populace sighed in worry…

The age gap between Phobos and Elyon was not extreme, but nor was it quite short… So…

Many power-blind people considered the weaker as either for usage or to be disposed of, forsaking nature's design of being their protectors. Phobos' view of his own people was no better, yet his despise at times seemed to board personal levels…

Oh, what did she actually know? Maybe she was being stupid… Maybe she was projecting things that were _not_ there.

Yet, those whispers of ideas persisted, making veils of those rationalizations until they were but like remains of dreams long dead… And though her hate persisted (sometimes only recoiling to the depths of her heart when it needed rest), it was not the sole emotion anymore. And it was not _fair_. Shouldn't she have been allowed this right, at the very least?

Why she had to be the one plagued by witnessing that side of his?

Why couldn't Phobos remain a face of hate, of an enemy to be vanquished?

And was she a fool, for acknowledging what had been born in her with the comprehension of each other? To name it "pity" was not right, for such was a demeaning, distant feeling, while compassion implied some level of care that did not exist.

In spite of herself… And of his actions… Of the faces of all the people whose lives he had shattered… Cornelia felt _mercy_ for him.

Was she wrong? To have mercy for a man who had none? To find herself saddened upon thinking about paths _he_ had not taken and the how life could have been, regardless of her?

" _It is easy"_ Her father had said once, years ago, holding a small Cornelia in his lap. " _To love your friends and people who have never hurt you. The great challenge, honey, is to learn to forgive and love those who did"_

" _What would you tell me now, dad?"_ She thought, leaning her face in her hand, the familiar heavy waves agitating themselves in her after being teased from their sleep by her thoughts. Was mercy to be reserved only for the victims? Were criminals only deserving of such as long as they never crossed enough lines and could still change? Mercy should not part ways from justice, though evil should always be responded to strongly… But those last words would be more well-suited in a judgement... Floating among slippery meanings and shades of grey, what were the right paths to be taken?

Cornelia couldn't find answers.

Those thoughts never relinquished their hold on her, no more than Phobos' words or touches, only retroceding to the depths of her being for some periods, but they were always there. Whatever might happen in the future, this particular line of reflection was something Cornelia didn't think she would admit to a single soul, in part due to the shame it caused, in part because others wouldn't _comprehend_ it.

In one occasion when Phobos had been explaining his reasons for one of his latest acts as ruler, numbness had spread in Cornelia underneath her skin as she listened, being enlightened on the works of his mind and suddenly it came to her that this man had once been a _child_ , like her or that boy who had once hugged her or anyone else…

Phobos. Named after the Greek God of _Fear_ …

Cornelia had lifted her hand slowly and touched his face lightly.

It had silenced Phobos. She _never_ initiated contact…

Straw-blonde hair. Bright eyes. Strong features. He didn't look the part of a monster… Well, they rarely did, did they not? People's behavior could influence what you became until a certain point, so what was it then? A role forced upon him over the years or a choice?

Maybe a marriage of both. A choice to embrace what others had made him out to be.

" _What_ happened _to you?"_ She had whispered. An instant had passed and then, as if waking from a dream, Cornelia had wanted to break away but Phobos had placed his own hand over hers before she had the chance, his eyes never leaving hers.

She had never received a reply, not that she had truly expected one…

A knock on the door lifted her head.

He was here.

A moment followed and, upon not hearing any request for waiting, Phobos came in. Cornelia remained still, the forgotten book still on her lap and back resting against the chair while glaring at him. The door was closed and the trembling firelight brushed his face along with some moonlight.

The robes he was wearing were white and teal, the same kind he had worn on the coronation day, a design that was among his favored ones and the Crown of Light emanated a pale gleam that would have shamed the stars themselves.

It was laughable, really. The Crown of _Light_ upon the brow of the one they called the _Dark_ Prince… It was a sight to make every soul of Meridian weep.

Or laugh, really, the laughter that sends sanity away.

"Good evening, my Queen" He smiled and Cornelia remained still while her spine shivered, being opened by a cold claw running through it. His terms of endearment she could accept, but not this… It was not so much the implied, non-existent relationship, just the title in itself. Being addressed as such made Cornelia feel almost as an accomplice in stealing what was her best friend's by right.

Being called a _whore_ wouldn't have caused such a reaction.

"Do not call me that" It was her response accompanied by a groan. Though she wanted to stand up, her body was heavy to commands of mind, even if the weariness was in her soul alone… She didn't find herself in the mood to deal with him tonight after drowning in a river of memories like that.

She was _tired_.

She missed _home_.

She wanted… _To not be here._

Phobos observed her with amusement, one eyebrow lifted. This was not out of mockery, but appreciation for the little routine of words between them, as it was one of the things born of time spent together, no different than private jokes that came to be between friends… Or lovers.

"My dear, I am the King. So, it follows that you're the Queen" That was also how he always responded to her protest and the only reason why Cornelia never made use of the argument that they were not married to concede her the title (which she would have refused anyway) regardless of whether there was anyone that might consider him "king" besides himself was simply because she had no desire of risking approaching _that_ particular topic with him.

Her glare was still on him and she had the mind of giving her also usual reply that _Elyon_ was the Queen and always would be, but the words were too deep in her throat and there was the chance that he might leave earlier if she wasn't very responsive, so she opted for a sigh with a roll of eyes instead before the neglected book was placed on the nightstand as Cornelia turned the windup-like key, making the flames slither down, fading.

The lack of inner source of light didn't leave the room to the darkness, the moonlight entering through the glass-doors behind Cornelia's couch chair illumination enough as it lend its pale shine to what it touched, the shades around soft blueish hues that grew darker when furthering away. For all her dislike at the _waste_ of the royal title on her, her chambers (room and personal bathroom) were indeed those of a Queen… Elegant without being suffocating, proud without being extravagant. Several elements were repetitions or at least resembled those from her home, such as the shape of her writing desk, the design of her bed (big enough to be comfortable, but not to the point of forcing body to realize her loneliness). On her first days, there had been some few occasions when her mind, still sliding itself towards awareness, had almost fooled itself into believing she was somehow back home…

It had never lasted more than a second and by now, it never happened.

"You appear to be tired…" As soft as his tone was, his words were not meant as a supposition. It didn't startle her how he could evaluate her state of being right away, not when it was just as easy for her to do the same. Phobos was pleased this night. Despite her decision, Cornelia already knew he wasn't planning on leaving soon, regardless of her silence.

He was not one to be dissuaded.

As he approached, Cornelia stood, leaving for the balcony and turning her face to the moonlight as she would to raindrops that sweetened a stuffy day. Her breathing was slow and deep as she drank from the night, feeling its freshness upon her skin.

"At which chapter you are?" The question was an innocent way of starting a conversation, but Cornelia doubted her reading was the actual topic Phobos had in mind for tonight. Not that it never was… During the times spent together, be during meals, his night visits or anytime else, Phobos would often try to engage Cornelia in conversation and while she had rejected it during her first days, by now she couldn't help but to accept it at times.

It wasn't so much due to lack of interaction with anyone else as much as sometimes it became too weary to keep her shields constant… And… As much as it disconcerted her… Cornelia had to admit she often found herself enjoying those shared moments, even yearning for them occasionally.

For a man of such actions and twisted mind, he could discuss the most innocent of subjects without tainting it. Eloquent and educated in several areas, Phobos had surprised her with proving himself to be a nice company and a great conversationalist, ensnaring her as he would tell of the Metamoor constellations, of the figures represented in the portraits or the complex structures that weaved music.

When the subject was a particular favorite of his, Phobos showed a passionate side (though he was always a man of self-control, unless enraged beyond it) such as when they discussed literature and theatre and he recited passages known by heart. Cornelia would end up talking about something of her own world, revealing her opinions and emotions.

It was wrong.

It made her feel like a traitor.

"Isn't it a pity to waste such a beautiful night?" He came to her side, movements of panther and not bothered by her unresponsive stance. "I've always found it quite peaceful."

Yes… Such a time might be peaceful for him, but for his people, there was no dream and no rest.

"Unless you spend it with thoughts of sorrow…"

His tone was suggestive and Cornelia glanced at his direction, before dedicating her attention to the fields in view beyond the garden. A sea of dark green that stretched under the moon, waves of small hills and spots of clearings, the foliage trembling when caressed by the wind… And Cornelia was blind to the view as the faces of her friends, of Caleb and Alborn, Vathek and many others from Meridian floated behind her eyes, not unlike unshed tears.

She held on to them as Phobos leaned closer, his voice brushing against her hair like a breeze as he spoke in the manners of secret-sharing.

"Then it becomes too long, does it not?" It was not hard to guess his words came from personal experience, but Cornelia ignored them. This was one those things that came to be experienced by most people at some point of their lives.

"Why you insist in drowning in unnecessary misery is beyond me." Phobos carried on in the same tone "It doesn't have to be so…" The unwanted truth of his words was enough to make her grid her teeth, turning to him in a sharp move that made her hair whip against her shoulder.

"And what? Close my eyes? Will myself blind to reality?" The words slithered between her teeth as she applied as much disdain as possible to each syllable, then turning her attention back to the view, this time in a demonstration of rejection even as Phobos cocked his head, as if both charmed by her behavior and also dismissing what he knew to be a reference to the things he did.

He had no regrets.

He never would.

And by now, even if remorse came to him, the scars he had left on the world were far too deep.

"Many do so" He continued in a nonchalant tone "Right in your planet. And you know it" No need to peruse his expression or voice to know it wasn't a debate on the nature of beings what he was aiming for, nor Cornelia needed to reflect upon it to nod, as the ages of ignorance about it had been already left in her childhood.

"Many, not all." She continued, as casually as him while trying to ignore his expression and the touch of his gaze. "Certainly not me. _And certainly not my friends_." The last words came in a hiss with Cornelia suppressing a smile that would have felt like a razor in her flesh, knowing he would understand what she was actually saying…

Much had been lost already and she would hold on to what was still hers.

His expression didn't change in any visible way, and yet she could notice some inquisitiveness, as if Phobos was deliberating if this was a point worthy of being addressed tonight. In the end, he probably decided otherwise and came to stand behind her.

It was a closeness that should only exist between enemies during battles, filled with murderous intention… But as much as Cornelia still regarded (or wanted to) Phobos as such, it was not reciprocated. How could one define, _actually_ define, what they were now? Even "captor" and "captive" were somewhat weak and didn't feel accurate enough.

" _Definitions are merely words, and life is not so easily shaped."_ And if they were still needed, one had to look into the eyes of a child growing in his lands or one of his black roses, that would be enough.

His strong hands came to rest upon her shoulders in a caress, before sliding down and stopping on her stomach, the sleeves of his robes falling in front of her as a cocoon.

Cornelia knew herself to not be in any risk of violation. It was not it what made her stiffen herself while leaning forwards, creating some distance between them in a gesture calculated to be enough of a demonstration of rejection.

"But aren't you refusing part of reality as it is?"

"No, I'm perfectly aware of it." Once again, something was said with no need of translation into sounds. She often tried to not dwell on how easily they understood each other and what they truly wanted to express… But, as dear as her friends were to her, this had only happened with Elyon and Caleb throughout in her whole life, it was not so easily dismissed. They knew each other's minds and hearts in an intimate way. The thought made something twist in her entrails, as a serpent that had made its home in her body.

Phobos nuzzled the top of her head while pressing her close with a tenderness that, by all means, he shouldn't be able of. His arms embraced her as if they knew her, as if Phobos had held her for a lifetime.

Cornelia tried to keep herself still, to keep her muscles as stone under her skin, but his touch soothed her flesh.

"I'm not so sure of it…" His voice was a whisper playing in her ear like the prickling of his goatee. "Is this out of some misguided idea of sharing the woes of others? Surely you don't believe this can make any difference?"

They were both aware that it wasn't so.

"It's more like a sense of right and wrong. Of _justice_." Sarcasm flowed into her voice and a small smile of the same nature found its birth in her for it. In his chuckle, the vibration of his chest against her back was like the purr of a lion. She felt the temptation of his warmth, which made her nerves shiver with both the desire of breaking away and of sinking herself deeper into his embrace.

This was a recurrent topic between them. When learning of his decisions regarding Meridian, be them recent of from years ago, Cornelia would always confront Phobos, her own senses provoked into a burning fury even if reason knew that, in the end, there was nothing she could do to change his mind nor more than she could change _him_.

Not that it would make her silent.

Although old enough to know how flesh and mind could be used in the manners of weapons, the idea of applying seduction as such, supported by his feelings for her, had never been appealing to Cornelia as a strategy to be considered.

" _As if that would work, for starters"_ It was not so much the fact that Phobos, who had mastered the practices of manipulation into a fine art, would know at once what she was trying at nor the eventual sacrifice of her body what caused the refusal… It was far simpler.

Cornelia wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it.

It was funny, really. When considering taking his life even if by low means, she had found out that she could afford to forsaken the related principles, even if the act (as necessary as it was), did not sit well with her. Yet, to make use of his feelings, no matter how, rested beyond a line she couldn't cross…

And again, it would be useless either way, even if she merely tried to ask him to change his decisions "for her". In a sense, an insane sense, Cornelia admired how Phobos remained loyal to himself, instead of adapting a _pretense_ of kindness or renouncing his decisions only to _please_ her.

" _Not that it would have made me like him any better… I wouldn't love someone who doesn't abuse others because of_ me _and not because it is just not right"_ Some might find such an idea romantic, but for her, just to think about it invited the taste of hypocrisy. In fact, if stripped of subtle differences, him doing so wouldn't diverge much from her using of female seduction. In a similar fashion, Phobos had never attempted to bargain a change on how he ruled in exchange of her acceptance of him. " _It would be demeaning for us both. For how he feels and how he sees me…"_

Cornelia didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this irony, of the honesty of his cruelty being preferred over a mask of kindness.

To refer to those exchanges as "confrontations" perhaps wouldn't be completely accurate, though they certainly started as such from her part, giving in to her emotions without a care for concealing them or for the punishments she might face. As it was, there were none… For all of his temper, even when she managed to clearly exasperate him, Phobos never even raised his voice, the sharpness of his eyes and the lack of amusement the only clues to it. And rather than ignoring her, he would actually _explain_ the general situation and his reasonings.

The enlightenment to the workings of his mind that came then would leave thorns in her bones. She could _understand_ his line of thought and the logic that fueled it, but it didn't make it _comprehensible_ or _right_ … And whatever arguments she had, they would be carefully dismembered in the fashion of a corpse, the entrails scrutinized only to be ripped apart as well, finishing with another argument of his own until she was but cornered by his words.

There was no remorse to be found, either. In the uselessness of her protests, she realized how _lost_ Phobos truly was… His past, regardless of its possible nature, would offer no absolution for his crimes. It might create a better understanding as to why he was who was, but no justification… The probations one went through in life _never_ bestowed a right to do equal (or worse in his case) to others.

And too many limits had been defied.

Perhaps his Mother hadn't been completely wrong when naming him, after all…

"Those are relative, my dear and at the mercy of perspective"

She rolled her eyes, unmoved not due to the words themselves as they were not bereft of sense, but because they couldn't be applied in this case.

"I fail to see how it can be " _relative_ "" She parroted his own terms, favoring to keep at least some sarcasm in place of the sigh that had teased the end of her throat just now "What you did and what you do"

Houses set aflame. Families separated. People imprisoned for the crime of speaking against his tyranny. People starving.

 _The Black Roses._

 _Elyon._

 _Caleb._

"One does what one must. It's the nature of the world. Most go on with pretty words, but no actual care… It's too much trouble." Nothing in his response surprised her, from the indifference at the accusation to the veracity for what he said. Cornelia shrugged in a similar way, as this was the sort of truth both were far too familiar with. She couldn't respond for "most", only for her own actions. "Would others do this for _you_ in return?"

Some place deep in her innards recoiled, as this was not something never thought about. If she, somehow, was to escape and the reward for whoever brought her back was tempting enough (pardon for a loved one who was in prison, a chance to leave for Earth) or, most likely, if he made living conditions even worse (and oh, how fertile his mind was for such things), wouldn't she be hunted down by those she had wanted to help?

No point in wasting time deliberating on this, however.

It wasn't something she liked to think about.

"If you wish to deny yourself happiness because others are suffering" He continued before she had the chance to formulate an answer she didn't have "Then you would be just as miserable on Earth. This self-sacrifice of yours has no reason to exist. So why would you _choose_ to feel like this?"

That wasn't exactly the point being addressed but it was close enough to tease her blood, that invitation to surrender to what he offered. To allow him to hold her, to soothe her sorrows and to make her smile. Groaning, Cornelia was about to shake his hold off her, deciding it was enough, only for his grip to increase without causing any discomfort. Between some more compliance and stubbornness, she begrudgingly opted for the first, hissing between clenched teeth.

"On contrary, I think I have a _plethora_ of reasons!"

"Don't we all?" Phobos sighed as they gazed at each other until he nuzzled her once more "All you're doing is cheapening yourself as a hawk who believes itself a canary"

This made her stare at him, not bothering to hide displeasure. If they were to discuss matters of perspective, happiness was an excellent topic to begin with as well as what meant to cheap oneself or not. If caring whether or not she was causing harm of any kind to someone else, if wanting to do whatever she could to help others to find their lost smiles was a restraint, then so be it. It was one she was glad to have.

To say so would only serve to prolong the conversation, so Cornelia ignored it in favor of a shorter response.

"My choice, then." With this, she turned her face away, holding back the sigh that threatened to escape, the weariness of before rising up once again. Suddenly, his hands were caressing her arms in a soothing way that dissipated the tension that had been growing without Cornelia realizing it.

More touches that her blood would remember, more words that would be revived in her mind when she was alone… And from that there was no release, no more than there was from recalling moments when he had made her _smile_ or _laugh_.

Those same hands that had hurt so many now were gentle in his attentions.

When he said nothing more, Cornelia wondered if this meant he would leave her alone, hoping that then…

She barely felt his head lowering before a kiss assaulted the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Usually dormant nerves were jolted. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she remained still, refusing become a participant in her own seduction.

His touches never crossed the unspoken lines, nor brought any discomfort yet as innocent as they could be, there were promises of something _more_ to be felt on them…

Sweet promises that were best left unfulfilled.

"And am I so terrible?" He asked quietly, his lips barely brushing against the spot he had kissed, the intimacy in both his words and gestures calling and repelling Cornelia at the same time. "Has my company never been pleasant?"

No sense in lying, not when there had been instances that worked as evidences of otherwise, of her responding to him and how, whether it had lasted moments or hours, Phobos hadn't been a tyrant or an enemy but just a man. Cornelia knew the mechanisms of her own heart and there was no love for him, but she also knew it would easily follow the forsaking of her own resistance…

Phobos loved her with an intensity and sincerity many dreamt about without ever finding and it called to a need that was, at least for Cornelia, as natural as that of air: The need to be loved, to be understood… To not be _alone_.

To fight the darkness of lust, of obsession and evilness was possible, but to fight the darkness of love was something else entirely. He heard the meaning behind her words and silence alike, kissed her heart when it was in pain, coaxed smiles from her lips…

He could make her feel _loved_. He could make her _happy_.

And she couldn't allow it. Even if she was not still in love with Caleb, she wouldn't have allowed it. To do so meant forgetting every face of those whom he had hurt, to dismiss blood and tears. And what sort of woman would she be, then, to love a man while having been so intimate with his cruelty?

She refused to become a traitor to every person of Meridian, both those whom she had befriended and those whose faces remained unknown, to her friends, to Elyon, Caleb, Alborn, Daltar and the very same people she cradled with her soul every day when visiting the Black Roses.

Most of all, in accepting to love Phobos she would be betraying herself.

"This" Cornelia replied, pleased that the winter she felt inside had returned to her voice "Doesn't _matter_ "

She felt his smile against her skin, his voice sweet as poison.

"Oh, _doesn't_ it?"

"No" She hoped her voice hadn't sound as harsh as it felt, not wanting to give him any solid indication that it wasn't so simple as she wished it to be. Some seconds of silence laid between them, making little difference since he communicated enough with his gaze alone.

"What is truly your mind this night, my dear?" His whisper was against her skin again, his deep voice one that she would have liked to fall asleep to. At some point of her throat, that unleashed sigh had changed its nature into of that of a moan… Or a sob.

Her body stiffened into rejection once more, she turned to him. There were thousand replies to that question and each one would be corrected… But they could all be fit into just one word.

"My _freedom_ "

He didn't even flinch.

"Your freedom lies with me. You know this" Such reply would be a painful cliché if taken literally. His lips played against her ear before another spot on her neck was gifted with a kiss, so light it could have come from ghost. His red goatee brushed against her. His pianist fingers touched her chin, enjoying the contact for a moment before pressing gently, wanting to gain a better access… And finding no resistance.

Assaulted by a storm of different emotions, Cornelia quietly cursed herself. It would have been easier if it was only her body responding to external stimuli like it would to a cold wind, blood circulating, lungs claiming and expelling air, muscle and bone wrapped by skin… Something she had no complete control of…

But it was not so and somewhere in her depths, the wish to lean back found birth, of turning and pressing herself against him, to let herself drown in him as he chased away the pain... It existed not merely in her skin, but deeper, reaching her heart… In order to hide it, Cornelia would have closed her eyes, if it would have been any of any help.

An animalistic growl went up her throat, passing over her moan.

" _Stop_ it" Phobos complied but Cornelia struggled anyway. His touches never lasted more than what she allowed. "And get the _hell_ away from me!"

His displeasure at the separation was plain to be seen in his face… And it was echoed in a deep part of her as well.

Moonlight pouring over them, wrapped by the darkness, they stared at each other.

With the silvery light on his sharp features, Phobos was a figure that could have belonged n a myth about dark gods. His bright eyes (so similar and so different from Elyon's) seemed to possess a light of their own, almost eyes of a large feline prowling in the night. No crown nor jeweled clothes were necessary to announce his status, his entire being spoke of power and royalty by itself.

Not that his robes were anything short of fitting for one such as he, though.

Likewise, many of her own garments were the sort that one would find in a queen's wardrobe or in their dreams. While their beauty went undenied, they did not entice Cornelia in the slightest and, in what she hoped Phobos saw to be another refusal (no matter how small, each opportunity counted), Cornelia would only wear the plainest dresses, some of which she had personally requested to Master Jink.

The same treatment was dispensed to the jewels, some of which had been given away to Master Jink or the servants while the ones kept remained unworn, resting in boxes like corpses in their coffins, rarely disturbed… They hadn't been given to others just as gifts, per say however, since Alborn had confirmed servants who were trustworthy and part of the Rebellion, along with the tailor. So at least the group might make better use of those gems, either to buy food or medicine or anything else…

Often, Cornelia worried as to whether or not Phobos knew… Oh, he certainly had noticed how she would give some of his gifts away, no point in fooling herself into believing him to be ignorant of what happened in his own palace, having just ignored it. But she hoped the actual purpose had remained a secret…

If not, Phobos would have revealed his knowledge on the matter already, would he not?

As she gazed at him, instances and moments flashed in her mind in a succession with no actual order, tied to each other by red lines covered in silver that was not unlike those the moon cast on them… And not unlike the invisible ones that seemed to join them in a spider web. Once again, Cornelia was bothered by the awareness of their understanding of each other, which she had never asked for and that went beyond the sort that could be born between enemies who have been fighting for far too long… At times, it was indeed almost as if they had loved each other years ago and forgotten, but not their hearts…

As if Phobos was right and they, indeed, belonged to each other…

The idea was disturbing.

If this was a fairy tale, then she would have been the lady who would rescue a man from his own darkness, guiding him back towards the path of good… However, fairy tales drowned in reality when trying to find a place to exist on it, becoming no more than ashes in the wind… Love didn't change people, no more than a person could change another.

In order for her to help him, it would be necessary that there was still something in him to be saved, some light (no matter how weak) that could be nurtured… And Cornelia knew that there was none, no matter how genuine his love was…

Whatever goodness Phobos might have had someday had long ago been slaughtered…

In such circumstances, shields couldn't offer protection and weapons couldn't slain… But Cornelia had already learnt, even before being made the Guardian of Earth, that not all battles made use of those things.

And what was this, for now, but an ongoing battle between the two of them?

She knew her disadvantages, both the obvious and the insidious ones…

But he had _not_ won yet…

"I'll never stop fighting you" The snarl came with the coldness of truth. As much the absolute control of the heart was impossible and traditional weapons rendered useless, her shield were the tears of a child, Elyon's gaze, the sound of her friends' voices and the touches of Caleb.

Phobos smiled at her, responding with a truth of his own.

"And I'll never let you go"

He came closer once again before Cornelia could react, his hand holding her face up in his direction. Shivers were teased under her flesh when one finger brushed her in a caress while Phobos' eyes ran over her face before stopping on hers…

"You would be a great model for an angel painting" He muttered, his expression soft. Cornelia said nothing to this.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was brief, but it was enough.

Leaning to her, Phobos whispered a single sentence.

"But even angels fall"

Her eyes followed him as he released her, his touch alive in her as it always was.

Yes… Angels could fall.

She might fall…

But she would stand.

Because it would be worth to see a bright day once again.

* * *

There we go! Yara, I hope you've liked your present!

So, some notes.

1 – A theory about the meaning of the name "Caleb" is that it comes from Hebrew " _Kal_ ", meaning "Whole, All of" and " _Lev_ ", meaning "Heart", so it would be kinda like " _Whole Heart_ ". Fitting if you imagine how it might have been for Caleb to become the leader of the rebellion when he had been made by Phobos. It is one of the things I wish the comics had explored more.

2 – Quote by Erich Fromm.

3 – For those of you who might be wondering, yes. The rebels mentioned in the first chapter weren't trying to rescue Elyon, but Cornelia.

Okay, so… I feel like I should comment a little about this story…

I do ship Cornelia/Phobos. I think it has elements that would make it an interesting dynamic and not only due to their personalities (there is how Elyon is Cornelia's best friend, how Phobos seems to have an affinity for plants -as seen with the Whisperers and the Black Roses- while Cornelia is the Guardian of Earth, the list goes on).

However, I wanted to make this a _realistic_ story, so it was never meant as a _romantic_ one.

Those of you who know me also know that I'm a fan of " _gothic romance_ " and " _heroine/villain_ " ships, but I don't believe in the " _love conquers all_ " concept, at least not in the literal sense… Love gives encouragement for people to become better, but it doesn't do anything on its own. And if a person becomes " _good_ " simply to fall in other's graces, rather than going through self-reflection, then he/she has not actually changed, nor can be called good. Truth is, no one can change anyone. People change themselves.

In the first draft, Phobos was indeed just obsessed with Cornelia, believing himself to be in love when it was not the case (let's be strictly realistic here, there is a limit for everything and considering the lengths he has gone to in matters of cruelty, would he even be able to _actually_ love anyone?). However, as I wrote it, I realized it would be more disturbing if, against all odds, Phobos' love for her was actually genuine. Even so, Phobos is _not,_ nor will he ever be, a good person.

In her turn, Cornelia does _not_ love him back (how could she?), but there _is_ temptation to allow herself to do so and with this coexistence, she ended up seeing a more humane side of his and perhaps even the person he _could_ have been. Everyone wants to be loved, but his feelings for her do not blind her for _who_ he is.

So, all in all, this is more a tragic story than a romantic one.

Well guys, this is it. There won't be any more chapters, but I would love to hear how you guys imagine this would end!


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